


48 hours

by Whendoestheshipsail



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Bottom Steve Rogers, Come play, Dom Bucky Barnes, Hand Feeding, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Power Exchange, Steve Rogers cries during sex, Sub Steve Rogers, and after sex, and happy endings!, bucky is surprisingly well adjusted because he's had enough trauma, gentle dom Bucky, happy ending!, he just cries, he's a really sad son of a gun, i'm just as committed to canon as the russos and disney, ie only if it suits me, loose adherence to canon, steve and his suicidal ideation is a thing, steve's super soldier libido, tagging suggestions welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:13:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21911848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whendoestheshipsail/pseuds/Whendoestheshipsail
Summary: Steve is keeping it together. No one would say he's keeping it together well, but he's getting by. Mission after mission, he goes back to his apartment in Wakanda and breaks down. Then he watches Bucky sleep and tries to not notice how everyone looks at him like he's the saddest bastard that ever lived.But, this time is different. This time, Steve goes back to his apartment post-mission and Bucky is awake, out of cryo and making them dinner in Steve's kitchen. The breakdown is still happening. Bucky isn't pleased, but he does have a plan. For 48 hours after every mission, Steve is going to let Bucky take care of him or he's going to be on Steve's next mission. He can't risk losing Bucky again. Which should make the decision simple.It isn't simple.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 132
Kudos: 608





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas! This is the story I mentioned at the end of Designational Resources but this title fits better. I'm still hoping to have three days of posting around 10k which will finish on Christmas. There is a 15% chance it won't end at 30k because that's how I apparently roll, but I fucking hope the story is completed as planned.

The ringing in Steve’s ears is high-pitched. An unending whine of sound. “Bucky?” Steve tries to say but doesn’t think anything comes out. He can’t hear it, so he mustn’t have said it. His head hurts. He coughs, has no idea if it’s blood or vomit. He turns his head, his shield is beside him and there’s something warm on his other side. Warm and wet and…blood. This is all blood. “Bucky?” he says, again.

Natasha peers down at him, obviously worried. She puts a hand on his face, searches his eyes for a long moment and gives him a nod. “It’s okay,” she says, and he only knows that from the movement of her lips. He’s dying. He’s dying and she’s said he can go. Someone finally gave him permission to die.

The darkness is sweet and easy and he drifts towards it happily enough. He thinks of Bucky, how he’d looked all those years ago, before there was any thought of war. When it was the two of them and things were perfect. Seeing Bucky’s face as he dies is all he ever wanted.

He doesn’t die.

“Hey, sleepyhead, we gotta get on the jet. Get the hell up,” Sam says, giving Steve a gentle shake. His face looks tense although he’s smiling. The ringing has gone down.

“What happened?” he asks, sitting up.

“You took a blow to the head. Battle was over, we had a few minutes before the quinjet got here, so we figured you might want so rest for a few minutes. Feel better?”

He touches his side where it’s warm and wet.

Sam whistles. “Oh, man, don’t touch that. That guy bled out all over you.”

“Was I hit?” he asks, even more confused. He looks down his body, sees he’s not bleeding to death. He was sure he was. It was over.

“Concussion, I think. Let me see your eyes,” Sam demands, getting a light and checking Steve’s pupils.

“I thought I was dying,” he says, and realizes it was the wrong thing to say almost instantly. Well, the wrong tone of voice. He shoves to his feet, picks up his shield and tries to walk steadily to the jet. Sam is distracted by Clint and turns away. Natasha is watching him. If she heard him then it’s going to be annoying.

More conversations and gentle touches, offers to come over and hang out when he just wants to be left the fuck alone so he doesn’t have to pretend that everything is fine.

“Good work, Nomad!” Clint laughs. It’s what the papers are calling him now and Clint thinks it’s funny. God, if it were a hundred years ago he totally would have decked him for the comment. Back when he could get really angry at any slight injustice. Now it’s just too much effort.

In those days, he’d gotten into fights he couldn’t win and wait for Bucky to save him. He gets into the jet and sits down, closing his eyes. Bucky is frozen back in Wakanda, unable to help himself or Steve. Bucky won’t save him ever again. No one will save him because he doesn’t need to be saved. It’s odd to go from being someone who needed protection to someone who couldn’t get it even if he knew how to ask for it.

He tried explaining it to Nat once, on one of the rare nights where he wasn’t sitting with Bucky watching him be perfect and untouchable, but was trying to be a person. She’d been angry at him. After everything they’ve all done for him, given up for him, and for Bucky, the idea that Steve isn’t 100% grateful and content makes Steve feel like an asshole.

He couldn’t explain to her how he’d relied upon Bucky, what the difference was when someone knew you when you were weak versus when they knew you after you’d become strong.

They’re all trying so hard. They’re all so gentle with him. And, sometimes, he thinks he’s trying hard, too. But, he isn’t trying hard enough. So what if Bucky is frozen? He’s _alive_. He’s _close_. Steve gets to sit with him and just be near him. He’s sketched everything in that room, including people. But never Bucky. He’d tried once but he looked dead. He sketches Bucky sometimes but it’s from before. When he was young and carefree. Before Zola, before he was shipped out. He can’t even sketch him in his uniform and Bucky had looked so handsome in his uniform. It’s all just a painful reminder.

He takes a deep breath, shakes it off and gets to his feet. “Okay, let’s debrief,” he says, and he claps Sam on the back and tells him what a good job he did. He congratulates Wanda on a job well done and pulls up the maps and videos.

Nat just stares at him.


	2. Chapter 2

The elevator doors close and Steve slumps back against the wall. It’s over. He’s finally by himself and the mission is completed, everyone has debriefed and gone their separate ways and now Steve finally gets to be alone. He opens and closes his hand, feels a sharp pain and suspects something is broken. It’ll heal. If it heals a little wonky it can get fixed the next time it gets broken. Shouldn’t be more than a month at the longest before something or someone breaks Steve’s hand bones.

So, yeah, he should go to the doctor, but he’s too tired to pretend to be okay, and if someone says the wrong thing he might say something regrettable or breakdown. The list of things people might bring up that would cause him to fall apart is growing. Bucky is, of course, at the top of the list, and the moment he steps into medical someone will bring him up.

But now there’s also any commercial, tv show or movie where someone hugs or cries, and Steve might also cry. It’s Pavlovian. Any discussion of Hydra makes him unstable and he’ll instantly psych himself up to be angry because it’s that or cry because, well, again, because of Bucky.

And there’s this other category which is basically ‘new things that would be better, and he’d enjoy more if Bucky was with him.’ And that’s just about everything.

So, it’s best if he’s alone. Alone in his apartment with his friends a few floors away, and yet they may as well be on the other side of the world.

Tomorrow he’ll go and sit with Bucky, just wait and stare at him. He knows it’s weird. Sees the pitying looks they give him but what else is he going to do? He’s like that Scottish dog that sat by the grave of its owner until it died. His eyes fill with tears. Shit. He tries to never think about that story. It’d been on some documentary about Edinburgh he’d watched with Wanda and Vision. Thankfully, they’d been so wrapped up in each other that neither of them had noticed him getting up and going to the kitchen until he could get himself together. He hadn’t. He’d snuck out and called a goodbye, saying he hadn’t felt well and… that was a few months ago. Just another reason he doesn’t go to movie night anymore.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow he’ll be strong enough to deal with it all.

He opens the door to his apartment in Wakanda that T’Challa has given him and smells food. Music is playing softly from the kitchen. He can’t do this. He doesn’t have the energy to deal with whatever kind soul has decided Steve can’t be alone after his mission.

This is Nat’s fault. He steps into the kitchen. He’d know the lines of Bucky’s body anywhere. He knows that back and his ass, and the shape of his head, the sleekness of his hair. Bucky’s chopping something. The kitchen smells like home. Bucky stops chopping and turns to face him. Smiling. He moves towards Steve, taking in his blood stained, grimy appearance.

“You’ve got thirty minutes to wash up. Jesus, Rogers, you look like you might need longer. Was it a fire fight or a mud fight?” He’s so close now. He’s got jeans and a Henley on. His feet are bare. He’s more beautiful then anything Steve has ever seen.

“How are you here? Am I hallucinating?” he leans against the island unable to move. Is he dead?

“Nope. No hallucinations. Apparently there is no combination of words that will turn me into a mindless killer. Shuri is done and so here I am. She finished right after you left. I’ve been here for almost two days. Thought you’d like the surprise. But, maybe that wasn’t the best idea,” he says, looking intently at Steve’s face. He looks worried. Worried for Steve.

“Come here,” he says, and he wraps his arms around Steve and pulls him into a hug. Steve grabs him back, clumsy with desperation, and holds him tight. Bucky grunts in discomfort and Steve can’t loosen his grip. He just _can’t_.

It’s a hug from someone truly hopeless. He may as well be drowning and clinging onto Bucky in hopes of rescue. He’s one of those sorry bastards that takes everyone down because he can’t be calm enough to let them both be saved.

_Fuck._ What a disaster of a thought. He buries his face into Bucky’s shoulder and breathes him in, so relieved and happy that he feels the hot press of tears burning in his eyes. There’s a faint tremble in his core, like his heart and his lungs and everything contained inside him is overwhelmed and about to explode.

He pushes back. He might start shaking and that’d be weird. He does that sometimes, wakes up just shaking in the night, and there’s no reason to do that now, but his body didn’t get the memo. So he has to let Bucky go so he doesn’t see.

“Go take a shower and get changed.” Bucky orders.

He goes to the bathroom and turns on the shower but sits on the lid of the toilet for a few minutes, trying to get himself together. That isn’t happening. It takes him two tries to get the shield off his back. He wipes the tears off his face and strips his clothes off, gets into the shower and stands there for too long before finally washing off the dirt, ash and gore. Blood is under his nails. Could be that girl, the one who’d expected him to save her. Most likely it’s the guy who bled to death next to him. Bad guy blood. Does that make it worse or better?

The young woman had hair just the same color as Bucky’s. There is a certain look people get on their face when he shows up, relief and happiness because it will be okay now. And maybe that’s why they die. They see him and they trust, expect him to fight for them and so they drift away with blood loss or hope. He almost wants to tell them, ‘I can’t fight for you. Keep going. You’re not safe yet.’

There’s a nail brush in the shower and he uses it, scrubbing and scrubbing until his nail beds throb and are bright pink. It will go away soon enough. He gets out of the shower and goes to his room, throws on sweats and a t-shirt and wanders out to the kitchen. Bucky’s gaze is shrewd.

“How was the mission?”

“Pretty standard,” Steve says, still unable to believe Bucky is here. Is this going to be their normal, then? What will happen now? “How is the arm and your head and everything?”

Bucky holds out his arm. “Vibranium. Shuri made it for me. It’s great. Feels a hell of a lot lighter and more comfortable than the other one. Funnily enough, Soviet tech ain’t something to write home about.”

“And… the programming?”

“Done. Gone.”

“What about… memories?”

He shrugs. “Some. Nothing a lifetime of intensive therapy won’t help, or so I’ve been told.”

“Uh huh.” Steve licks his lips. He even reaches out a hand, grabbing Bucky’s forearm. _You can move in here. I have two bedrooms. You can’t leave me alone. If you don’t want to live here we can get something else._He swallows hard. Those are all sentences that say what needs to be said. The only thing that matters to Steve is Bucky. He needs to get him to stay. How? 

“I put my stuff in the second bedroom. If that’s okay?”

Steve drags in a breath. _Yeah, Buck. That’s a great idea. You’re going to stay, right? Thank fucking god because I want to die and can’t go on without you here. _More sentences that would accomplish a similar result. They’re all in his throat. He collapses to the ground, folds forward so his head is awkwardly high up on Bucky’s thigh and cries. His arms are wrapped around his stomach as he sobs.

“Oh, _shit_. Stevie! You’re okay. I’m here. It’s okay. You’ve got to move. Someone comes in and it looks like you’re trying to give me a blow job. While crying. Which sounds like an awful blowjob. Worse than that time Dugan got bit by that prostitute cause a shell went off two blocks over. Remember that?” Yeah, Bucky sounds as desperately off balance by this display as Steve feels.

Steve should laugh now and sit up. Save them some of the embarrassment. “Well, shit. Come here, at least,” Bucky says, and he grabs Steve under his arms and hauls him upwards. Bucky is somehow sitting on a chair and Steve is on his lap, arms wrapped around his neck like Bucky is Santa Claus. His mouth opens as he drags in air and tries not to sob loudly. The sobbing _is_ happening. But, it’s quiet and a little restrained at least. His nose might be running on Bucky’s neck and that would really be unfortunate and gross, but Bucky’s endured worse from Steve growing up and wouldn’t do more than rib him a bit and then let it go.

It isn’t close enough. He wipes his face and nose on his sleeve and presses his face hard into Bucky’s strong neck. He smells clean and warm and good. He’s home. This is the only thing that matters. The whole world could burn down and as long as he had Bucky he wouldn’t fucking care.

“I’m not getting you a pony for Christmas,” Bucky says, and rubs a hand up and down Steve’s back. He’s still trying to make jokes, still trying to make things less weird and help Steve get his shit together and Steve just can’t.

He doesn’t kiss Bucky’s neck but he presses his whole face there, and if that means his lips press against his skin and drag along his neck a little then so fucking be it. Bucky presses his cheek against Steve’s head. “I’m here, Steve. I’m not leaving. I’m with you, pal. Do you know that?”

It’s too big of a thing to agree to. He needs it too much. It’s like tempting fate if he tells Bucky that he believes he gets to keep him. Bucky gives him a tight squeeze. “Well, it’s true. You’ll see. It’s going to be fine. Just like it was before, Steve. Everything will be fine.”

***

Steve wakes up in his own bed. Bucky is there, asleep beside him and it’s just like it used to be all those decades ago. Too poor for more than a bedroom, used to sleeping together. Bucky’s hand is in front of him, his body curled up like a question mark facing Steve. He puts his hand out, close to Bucky’s but is scared he’ll wake Bucky up if he touches him. He watches their fingers in the dark, having no idea what time it is or how long he’s been here. He sort of remembers Bucky getting him here and tucking him in bed. He remembers crying. That the change in location hadn’t done a damned thing to stop him from crying and that he’d totally soaked Bucky’s shirt with tears and worse.

Bucky’s shirtless in Steve’s bed because of it. Steve’s eyes are gritty from all the crying, he’s dehydrated and his head hurts. Bucky is here, he thinks and he puts a hand gently on Bucky’s cheek, feeling his jaw, the stubble there. Bucky’s brows pull into a frown and he opens his eyes, blinking at Steve. His words are slurred with sleep. “You’re a dope. Go back to sleep.”

Bucky grabs Steve’s wrist, pulls it down off his face and to his pillow and almost instantly falls back asleep. Steve can feel the slight exhalation of his breath against his fingers. His wrist is covered by Bucky’s warm, flesh hand. He doesn’t dare move any closer. He goes back to sleep.

In the morning, the bed is empty and Steve has a moment of sheer terror where he thinks it was all a dream. He stumbles out of bed and to the kitchen. Again, Bucky’s back is to him and he’s facing the stove. Steve goes straight up to him, pulls him into a hug. “I’m eating breakfast and so are you. If you want to be a human octopus after I’ve been fed then you’ve got it. But, first, food. And say hi to Nat.” Bucky says, patting Steve awkwardly on his arm.

Steve pulls away, can feel her watching him. He’s blushing as he turns towards her. She’s sitting on a barstool with a mug of coffee in front of her. “Good morning,” she says, and the little half smile may as well be a giant grin. He’s never been so embarrassed. Well, of course he has, but not in front of her.

“You didn’t show up in the gym at five am like you usually do. When I went down to the gym it was all Kareen could talk about.” Kareen’s job was taking care of the gym and by extension the group of Avengers who used it. “Imagine my surprise when I come to check on you and James answers the door. We were trading stories.”

“What does that mean?” Steve asks, voice apparently more revealing than he’d wanted it to be. Bucky stops and looks at Steve with wide-eyes.

“What do you have a girlfriend or something? I just got chills,” Bucky says, and mimics shivering.

“No. Of course not,” he says, defensively. Nat raises a brow at him and the gesture somehow manages to convey how unsubtle and obvious Steve is being.

The silence goes on for too long. “One pancake or two?” Bucky asks, casting a glance towards Nat.

“Can’t stay. I just wanted to check on Steve. Make sure he was alright. He is. Glad you’re better, James.” She smiles at him. It’s a weird smile. It’s sincere and beautiful and like nothing Steve has ever seen her give anyone.

Steve waits until the door closes. “Why did she smile at you like that?”

“Why is she so worried about you?” Bucky asks, and he slides another pancake onto a stack beside him.

“She isn’t. I’m fine.”

Bucky grunts and takes down another plate, puts half the pancakes on one and half on the other. He holds out a plate for Steve. “You really down in the gym at five most days?”

“So what if I am?”

He shrugs. “Nothing. I’m just trying to figure out how you’ve been spending your days since you got here.” He sets his plate down on the table, taps a finger onto the surface. “I know you don’t want to hear it,” Bucky says, looking at the pancakes instead of Steve, “but I’m sorry you’re stuck here and that all your friends are stuck here and that you’re all wanted criminals and that a lot of that is because of me.”

“It isn’t because of you. Don’t be ridiculous. It was Tony and the Accords and if it hadn’t been you then it would have been something else. He had no business trying to trap us all like that. Wanda wasn’t safe, they were going to take in Nat at the first opportunity, it isn’t your fault,” he says.

Steve sits down and stares at his pancakes, trying to behave like a normal person. “I don’t have silverware,” he mutters, and he gets up again, gets them both a knife and a fork. Bucky puts down a cup of coffee next to Steve. It’s got cream and sugar and no one has made him a cup of coffee since 1945 and no one knew exactly how he liked it. He bursts into tears and gets up, locks himself in the bathroom and sits down on the closed lid of the toilet and sobs.

Why is he crying? He doesn’t _want_ to be crying. It’s totally unnecessary. He blows his nose and tries to get himself together, but instantly he’s crying again and there is no way he’s going to get out of here anytime soon. His stomach rumbles. He’s fucking hungry. He can’t keep missing meals. But, fuck. Bucky is here and alive and it’s all so damned much. Eventually, there’s a knock on the door and Bucky pokes his head in.

His mouth is in a flat line and his eyes look a little red-rimmed. He gets a washcloth out of the cabinet, wets it down and wrings it out then comes closer.

“Tilt your head back,” he orders. And Steve does, closes his eyes and Bucky puts the washcloth over Steve’s eyes, runs his thumbs along Steve’s brow, over the cloth, soothing him because Steve always gets headaches after he cries. At least he used to. Steve’s hands go to Bucky’s waist, holding him, feeling the solidity of him. He doesn’t mean to grip him tighter or to press his face against his hands. He doesn’t think about the fact that his legs are opening wider and he’s scooting a little closer so he can feel the heat or energy of Bucky’s body along his own.

Bucky chuckles and then stops, almost abruptly. The washcloth comes off, gets placed on Steve’s forehead. He’s staring down at Steve but he has no idea what Bucky must be feeling. _Thinking_. Steve swallows and realizes how far back his head is. Someone would get the wrong impression if they walked in right now. Steve blushes, the warmth of it rushing up his chest and his neck and into his cheeks. His dick is getting hard and he has no idea why.

“I’m okay,” he says, and he lets go of Bucky’s waist. Well, he takes one hand away, the other one stays. He pulls the washcloth off and blinks. Bucky is looking down at him. His eyes are neither blue nor gray at the moment but somewhere in-between and it’s the sort of color that Steve wants to recreate with paint because it’s so exquisite.

His hair is in his eyes and he needs to shave. He’s perfect. He’s so fucking beautiful Steve can’t hardly stand it. “I’m sorry. I think it’s just going to take me a bit to get used to it. Seems like….” Jesus, his throat is all clogged up with emotion again. He swallows hard, clears his throat. “It’s been a long time since things have been this good.” He shakes his head, grips Bucky’s waist. He’s so muscular. And warm.

“Maybe…maybe this is the best moment of my life. I’m not sick. We’re not in a war. You’re not…_gone. _I know you apologized or whatever but I don’t need it. I’d give it all up for you, Buck. Over and over again.”

“If this is you happy, then you may need therapy more than I do, pal.” He steps back and Steve’s hand falls to his side. Bucky runs a hand over his jaw and Steve gets to his feet. He folds the washcloth because he has nothing else to do and he’s blushing. He’s hard as a rock but he’s checked and there’s no way Bucky would be able to tell. The realization of just how aroused he is, how much he fucking wants Bucky makes him uneasy.

He’s always admired Bucky. Bucky’s been a standard of manliness or handsomeness or whatever, since Steve ever gave a thought to what a good looking guy might look or act like. Bucky is charming. If Steve ever tries to emulate someone confident or charming, it’s Bucky he thinks about. What would Bucky do? How would he behave?

And he’d always been able to touch Bucky and had woken up hard beside him since the first time he basically got an erection. It just…was.

And the war was…okay, that was worse. Because he was always a little turned on and had too much energy, but once he’d had the serum, his dick had become this extra thing to be accounted for. He couldn’t get through the day without jerking off at least twice and usually three was necessary for him to function and stay calm.

All the Commandos had seen Steve with a hard-on in the mornings. It had been the subject of many jokes for a while. That Steve was big all over. And he’d been caught jerking off more than once because the serum had completely fucked with his sex drive and there was always lots of waiting the fuck around and not having enough privacy while one was on the front, or trying to get to the front.

Bucky’d been a look out for him. He let Steve have privacy in the morning, always getting up first, or coming in after Steve’d had some time in the tent at night. It’d been mortifying, but it was better than waking up in the night, pressed up to Bucky and hard as a rock. Or coming in the night, waking up with a moan and his hand on his dick and knowing full well that poor Bucky was awake beside him and pretending not to be. So, yeah, Bucky had been a lookout and knew all about Steve and his awkward erections. 

It’s only now that he wonders if Bucky was so understanding because he had his own problems after getting experimented on by Zola. He wishes he could ask. He can’t fucking ask.

Anyway, Steve would need a minute, Bucky made sure Steve had privacy and they both knew what Steve was doing and why. God, he can’t imagine how mortified he’d be if one of his new friends knew how bad it got for him sometimes. He had such a reputation for being a choir boy and yet his biggest problem post-serum was that he was always aroused and having impure thoughts.

And it was fucking weird. But war was worse, and someone getting off was at least better than having the runs, which half the guys did all the time anyways because the food was old or undercooked or just because of fear.

A few months after Zola, when they’d basically made peace with Bucky having nightmares and Steve having a hard on, they’d gotten into a routine with each other. If Bucky was a lookout then it was just normal that Bucky was the last thing he’d seen and so he was who Steve would think about when he finally got his pants open. And Bucky had incredible lips and so he’d fantasized a hell of a lot about them or how much of a relief it would be if Bucky used those strong, capable hands to jerk him off so he didn’t have to. What a help he’d be.

Yeah, that fantasy had a tendency to wake him up in the night still, only now he’d feel guilty and miserable. If anyone was going to be helping someone it should be Steve helping Bucky after everything he’d been through. Steve had mentally prepared for Bucky to be a mess. Bucky isn’t a mess. Seeing the way he is now, he isn’t sure Bucky will need his help for anything, ever.

Bucky was always so capable and charming. The men had all rallied around him and when Steve was putting the Commandos together, it was Bucky who helped him figure out his team and how to approach them, who’d helped him come up with the best ways to do things. Because Bucky knew. He’d been in the trenches and with the men and he’d been confident and desired for so long that of course he was someone to emulate or think about.

So, fine. Bucky made him hard. Always had and always would. That was… that was why. “I need a minute,” he said, quietly, already feeling a bit desperate to get his hand on himself. And he didn’t want to stop touching Bucky. But he did.

“Good,” Bucky said, some weird acknowledgement that he knew exactly what Steve was going to do before coming back out.

Bucky left him there and went back to the kitchen and Steve closed the door and pulled down his pants. He touched himself and looked at the washcloth Bucky had brought him. Bucky, he thought, and he imagined the feel of his waist under his hand. God, he’d looked so tall, standing over Steve. And when Steve couldn’t see, the cloth over his eyes and Bucky’d been there, looming over him. When his head had been tilted back and there was nothing else to do but wait for Bucky to give him some sign or direction. He’d felt safe and calm and there wasn’t anything that could go wrong or hurt him when Bucky was standing guard over him like that.

He comes unexpectedly. Cuts off a groan as the orgasm rolls over him deep and longer than anything in recent memory. It’s perfect. He cleans up and looks in the mirror, cheeks a little flushed. He comes out of the bathroom and he’s a little shy suddenly but Bucky doesn’t even look at him. He’s always been so good at not making things weird for Steve. 

Steve finally eats. He watches tv with Bucky, some show about baking and they can’t get over the screen. How big it is, how clear the picture is. How much food is _everywhere_. When Sam comes by that afternoon just to check on Steve, he gets to offer him a cookie and tell him how they went to the grocery store. Bucky is in the shower and Steve is a little relieved because he isn’t sure how Sam is going to treat Bucky and he needs him to be understanding and nice.

“Shower, huh? How’s he dealing with the transition?”

Steve shrugs. “Seems good. He’s cooking and we went to the market and he was okay. I think I was more jumpy than he was.”

“Guess that wouldn’t be surprising.”

Steve crosses his arms, adjusts his stance a little wider. Defensive. Sam raises a brow at him and Steve scowls. Sam’s therapist stick gets old sometimes. “What does that mean?” Steve asks, and he sounds more annoyed than he wants to.

“He had a couple of years on his own is all. Seemed like he got himself together a bit. How to deal with the wider world and sleep on his own and keep a home for himself. Sounded like he read more therapy books than half the shrinks I’ve been to. He’s adaptable.”

“Are you saying I’m not adapting?” And what the fuck? When had Sam even talked to Bucky about therapy and trauma and all of this shit? How much did he know about what Bucky had been through?

“No. I haven’t mentioned you at all,” Sam says, with a shrug. And his tone of voice makes it clear that he definitely was referring to Steve and how he’s not dealt with stuff. He’s never needed to. Or wanted to.

“Bullshit. Of course you meant me. Is that whatyou’re going to tell him? Is that why you’re here? You gonna tell him to keep an eye on me because you think I’m incapable of handling what’s happened to me?”

Sam actually takes a step back, puts his hands up.

Bucky shows up then. His hair is wet and he’s only got a towel around his waist. “What’s going on?” he asks, putting a hand on Steve’s arm. He stands between him and Sam, waiting until Steve meets his gaze. Whatever that look is on Bucky’s face, it’s new and horrible.

“First Nat and now him. I’m _fine_. I don’t need people talking about me behind my back.” He doesn’t need them all coming here and telling Bucky things that will make him not want to be here. He’s _always_ taken care of Steve and he doesn’t need to do that anymore. That’s the last thing Steve wants.

Bucky’s warm and damp and Steve glances down his body, looks at the hand on his arm and then all that skin. The scars, the muscles, how pale he is. How beautiful he is. The flat circles of his nipples and the definition of his chest. He wants to put his forehead there, between his pecs and just breathe him in and lick his skin. He’d roll his face across his chest, try to make marks on his skin with his beard, he’d— Steve takes a step back, jerks his arm out of Bucky’s grip. 

“You don’t take his side,” he says, low and dangerous, to Bucky.

“What the fuck are you talking about? I heard you out here and came to see if you were alright. _No one_ is taking sides. What would I even take sides _on_?” Bucky asks, and he puts a hand out to touch Steve’s cheek. Steve stumbles away from him, almost hitting the wall and goes to his room, shuts the door and leans heavily against it.

“No,” Bucky whispers, because Sam had started to say something. Steve can still hear the whisper through the door, thank you very fucking much.

The front door opens and closes. They’re both out there, talking about him. They can’t. How can Sam do this to him? Steve breathes and tries not to think about how he’s so fucked up that everyone knows and is telling Bucky.

They can’t put this on Bucky. Fixing Steve isn’t Bucky’s problem. It’s no one’s problem. Steve is strong and big and he can carry around all of his own crap without shoving it onto anyone else. Certainly not someone who spent most of their life carrying Steve physically and mentally.

What if Bucky liked being alone? What if he decides to leave again? Steve saw his place in Bucharest. It wasn’t much, but he had everything he needed. He’d made a home out of nothing. Without an identity or money, while being a wanted man the world over, he’d still adapted and thrived. Without Steve.

Bucky never had a chance to choose something besides Steve until after the helicarrier. When the chance came, he didn’t reach out to Steve or come find him. He just…lived. That rat trap, alone, was better than being with Steve.

If Steve hadn’t found him, he still wouldn’t have Bucky. So, everyone has to _stop_, they can’t give Bucky reasons to leave him. Steve’s emotional state can’t be the reason he loses him.

Finally, there’s a knock on the door, the knob turns and Steve jumps away from the door.

“I thought you were outside talking to Sam.”

“No. I don’t need to talk to Sam right now. I need to see you. He’s gone. I just showed him out.” He’s staring at Steve. Waiting for an explanation.

“I’m not this fucked up.” He laughs, because there’s nothing more fucked up than saying one isn’t fucked up.

“I don’t care how fucked up you are, Steve. We’re all fucked up.”

“You’re not. You don’t have to take care of me anymore. And I don’t want you to. I don’t. If you leave because of me—” The words die in his throat. _Well, fuck._

“I’m not going anywhere, Steve. Promise. It’s me and you.”

Steve nods. That’s all bullshit. All Bucky has done is leave him since they woke up. He almost killed Steve, ran away, stayed away, and then chose to go back under. Chose a death like state instead of being with Steve.

_I have to touch you._ He doesn’t reach for Bucky. A drop of water falls off his hair and starts sliding down that perfect chest. He wants to see it go down, all the way down, past his belly button, to his—

“I’m going to get some clothes on,” Bucky says, and turns away from him. “I’m not having this conversation naked.”

“There’s no conversation to have.” 

“You want to go on a run or a walk or something?”

“Why?” It’s defensive, almost accusing.

“Jesus, Steve.” Bucky stalks off, leaving him there. Bucky comes back wearing a t-shirt and some sort of fashionable track pants with tennis shoes. Steve looks at his own outfit and back at Bucky again.

“What’s going on? Why do you look all fashionable and I don’t? You were frozen.” Even this is some strange betrayal. He doesn’t even know why it pisses him off but it does.

Bucky shrugs. “Shuri. Tell her you want some clothes. She’ll work it out.”

“Wow. Charmed another one, huh?” and he takes a deep breath, feeling oddly inadequate as he goes to the front door. Bucky ignores his comment and that’s probably for the best because he shouldn’t have said it.

They get to the elevator and Bucky rubs at his chin for a moment. “You know she’s really young, right? She’s like Becca’s age. Or Becca’s age before. I’m old…I wouldn’t….”

Steve lets out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it. Just another example of me not being fucked up.”

Bucky grabs him by the arms. “Tell me, for fuck’s sake, Stevie, just _tell me_ what you need right now and you _know_ I’ll try to give it to you,” Bucky says, like he’s Mr. Fucking Perfect.

“Let’s spar then.”

Bucky frowns, quick and then gone. He nods like it isn’t a big deal. “Okay, let’s go.”

Steve takes them to the boxing ring he’s been using and where the Avengers do their training. It’s actually a bit of a replica of what Shield has, just upgraded. Leave it to T’Challa to recreate and improve upon what they know. “Nice,” Bucky says, looking around the room. “Should we go back for your shield?” Bucky asks.

“No. I don’t want that. No knives or anything, either.”

“Course not.”

Steve doesn’t want to hit Bucky, doesn’t want to hurt him or see him hurt. He doesn’t want to make him bleed or anything. He just wants to touch him. He wants to feel him alive and vital and he can’t think of any other way to have that.

“We don’t have to do this,” Bucky says.

“Want to,” Steve says, staring at the shoe he’s toeing off instead of Bucky. “Not…hard. I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, all in a rush. _I just need to feel you and know you’re alive._

Bucky makes a hmm sound in his throat. Like he’s psychoanalyzing Steve. Steve rolls his shoulders and walks towards the mat. “I don’t like you talking to them about me.”

He turns back around and Bucky is coming towards him, meeting him in the middle. “They’re worried about you.”

“I’m no one’s problem.”

“You’re not a _problem_ to anyone. No one sees you as a problem. How do you want to do this?” Bucky asks him, horribly gentle.

“Just hit me,” he says, shaking out his hands. “Boxing like we used to.”

“You want to get taped up?” Bucky is making no move to do so.

Steve shrugs. He tries making a fist, almost an experiment, imagines hitting Bucky and he can’t stand the idea of it. It makes him nauseous.

“How about we go over breaking holds?”

“I’m…I’d break yours?” Steve asks, almost desperately. He needs Bucky to touch him.

A nod. “Standing or lying down?”

“Down.” And he goes, no second guessing. He goes to his stomach because he can’t look at Bucky right now. Bucky will see how terrified he is. Bucky moves, straddles him and lowers himself, dropping to his knees without any sound. A graceful predator.He can feel a hint of pressure on his hips from Bucky’s inner thighs and that’s it. It’s not fair.

Steve gasps. He’s trembling a little. Maybe he can’t do this. But, he has to have him. Bucky’s hand touches his, carefully draws Steve’s hand down, pressing it to his lower back. Steve’s hand is a fist, worried Bucky will see how much he’s shaking and then stop this and _not_ touch him. His warm hand settles over Steve’s, covering him. Steve’s face is buried in the crook of his other arm and he’s panting.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks, a gentle squeeze on Steve’s fist. Shit. He shouldn’t be making a fist.

“I can’t feel you. I don’t know where you are,” he says. It’s inane. Bucky rests on him, sits on his ass and a hitched noise comes from Steve’s throat. “You’ll leave me if I can’t get my shit together.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever fucking heard,” Bucky says, flatly.

A shudder goes through Steve, so intense that his teeth rattle. “You don’t need me. I can finally help you and you don’t need it,” Steve says. “Why wouldn’t you leave _again_ and live on your own when staying here means…_this_.”

“I love you,” Bucky says, like that isn’t a big deal. “I’m choosing you. Isn’t that better? For the first time, we can. It’s not poverty or illness or war.”

“You didn’t _choose me_,” he says, bitterly, and he jerks his hand out of Bucky’s grip. Great. Now what’s he supposed to do? Once again he isn’t touching Bucky when it’s all he really wants.

“I’m thinking we need to have a conversation about what exactly ‘choosing you’ might mean.”

“The last thing I want is another fucking conversation.”

Bucky snorts in amusement. “Then it’s a damned shame you’re pinned under me, isn’t it?”

That’s the invitation to throw him off. If Steve doesn’t want to talk, wants to fight or whatever, then now is the moment. That isn’t what he wants. He puts his hand back, so glad Bucky can’t see him as he shifts his arm and pushes it against his back again, like he might actually try to break Bucky’s hold. Bucky sighs, annoyed.

Bucky presses Steve’s palm open and rubs his thumb over Steve’s skin. Now what? 

“You know what the best part of being the Winter Soldier was?”

“That makes it sound like there were lots of things to choose from.” Oh great, now they get to talk more. Steve lifts his head, thunking it against the mat.

Bucky ignores the snark. “Being mind wiped. Whatever I did was gone. It’slike the tree falling in the forest. Is there really a burden of guilt if no one is around to remember it?”

“You saying you don’t feel guilty?” because he doesn’t believe that for a second.

“Of course I do. But, I’m me. I got drafted. I was captured. I was brainwashed and made into a weapon. The beginning and end of every bad act I’ve done is because I never had agency. Now I do. I hate to tell you, buddy, but I’m a lot more well adjusted then you are or ever were.”

“How is this helpful?” Bucky’s not wrong, but if the goal is to make Steve feel better then it sucks.

“I’m saying, I never thought I could save the world. Never wanted to charge into battles I knew I’d lose because it was the _right_ thing to do. I just followed you. My moral compass was you. You bore all the weight and did all the hard work. Still do. You do your best to make it look easy, Steve. But, it isn’t.”

“It isn’t that it’s hard. It’s more that…” he chews his bottom lip a moment, a habit he’s pretty sure he hasn’t repeated since he was ten. He knows the words are there but feels like a failure just saying it aloud. But maybe he has to tell someone. He’s beginning to think that maybe he can’t do this endlessly. Be the hero. “It just doesn’t _stop_,”he whispers.

Bucky’s metal hand settles over Steve’s shoulder blade and some of the tension evaporates, sliding out of him as he exhales and his body sinks heavier into the mat. “Thank you.” Was that an appropriate response?

“It’d be impossible for almost anyone else, Steve. Every time you go on a mission it cuts you a little deeper. It always has, it’s just now you have a bit of time to rest and everything is suddenly catching up to you. I see it. I get it. I’m worried.”

They all are. He lifts his head so he can get his other arm free and lets it go back. Bucky takes his hand, holds them both behind him, hands on Steve’s wrists.

“Turn your head to the side.”

He turns his head and feels the tears start. God, fuck his life. Why is he crying this time? He doesn’t even know. But, Bucky is here and that’s the only thing he really needs to survive. Bucky moves one hand and then the other so they’re next to Steve’s head, so the weight of his chest is on Steve’s back and the hard body and warmth of Bucky weighs him down.

He holds his breath, worried he’s going to moan.

“Breathe. I’m not that heavy.”

He breathes but it’s all gasps and uneven. Bucky’s fingers grip his. Reassuring. He’s grateful to have a friend like Bucky. The strength and solidity of him, the knowledge that he has of Steve. His weaknesses and strengths. Maybe that was the hardest part of coming out of the ice was that no one knew him. They knew who they wanted him to be. He nods. He’s worried too. He doesn’t see another option. “Everyone needs me but you.”

“I’m sorry I ran after getting you out of the river. I had no concept of who you were, not really. I saved you because I thought I’d have questions and it felt necessary. And then I went to the Smithsonian and I saw my face next to yours and you were this _hero_. For a little while there, you made me look like one, too. And that was bizarre. How could I have been good when I killed so many people? What if I killed you? I saw all that stuff about you and I thought, ‘this crazy fucker is going to come after me and I’m probably going to kill him.’ So, I ran. Because I didn’t want to kill you. I’d make that choice over and over again, Steve. Every fucking time.”

“Leave me to save me. How noble. Fuck you. Get off.”

Bucky presses his forehead into Steve’s cheek. His grip is hard, his weight is heavier as he tries to will Steve to understand or get it or something. “Do you _really_ want that?” he asks, his lips shaping the words on Steve’s skin. “I’m sorry I went back into cryo.”

“You were a fucking _coward_.” Shit. He shouldn’t have said that.

“If you knew how much I wanted to be by your side, you wouldn’t think that.” Before Steve can really process that, Bucky says, “I want you to take a break from the missions.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Then you let me go with you.”

Oh, the fantasy of Bucky at his back like the good old days. Not like he doesn’t think about that every fucking day and cry into his damned coffee. “Every time we go, people die. Some of them probably wouldn’t have died if we didn’t show up. Some of them die worse deaths because we’re there. And they all look at me and I tell them where to go, make these plans that put their lives at risk and it’s Russian Roulette. But, I don’t know them. And then I tell Sam and Nat, Wanda and Clint what to do and where to go and I know that one of these days one of them won’t come back. Who will it be? Who will I lose? I can guarantee you it won’t be me. Heaven forbid _I _die,” he says, not surprised a certain amount of rage leaks through. “And it will be all my fault.”

“You know that’s not right. They wouldn’t go if they didn’t think you were right. They put theirlives at risk knowing they may not come back. And they would never blame you for something that happens out there. You _know_ that.”Does he know that? Steve certainly doesn’t believe it.

“I can’t lose you. I won’t risk that person being you.” He pulls his arms free and Bucky gets off of him. The good news is that the conversation was so fucking awful he’s not obviously hard anymore. Steve gets to his feet and goes to put his shoes on. Bucky follows him. Silent. The conversation isn’t done. Bucky is just plotting out what to say to get Steve to cave. He won’t cave. No fucking way.

“You know you have no real leverage here, right?”

“Because you can threaten to leave me?” Steve says, glaring at Bucky. He yanks his laces so hard that one side rips in half. “Fuck!” He puts on his other shoe, ties the laces and stands up, hands on hips, looking down at Bucky as he slowly puts his shoes on. “Hurry up.”

“You could go back to the apartment on your own,” Bucky says, and Steve wants to hit him in his perfect fucking face. He _should_ go. It would serve Bucky right. Let Bucky see how it feels being walked away from. He doesn’t move.

Bucky finally gets to his feet. “I want something from you.”

His head jerks back like he’s been hit. “And you won’t try to go on the missions?”

Bucky licks his lips, thinking. “I won’t try to go on the next one, so long as it’s straight forward and easy.”

Well, that’s as good as he’s going to get. “What?”

“When you come back from these missions you need to spend some timedecompressing before you go out again. In an ideal world it’s at least 48 hours.” He doesn’t know what Bucky means by ‘decompressing’ but the way he isn’t looking at Steve makes him suspicious. “When you come through our door, you no longer make decisions for 48 hours. I will make them. All of them. What we eat. Where we go. When you go to bed, all of it.”

“Are you joking?” Because it sounds insane. He doesn’t even know if it sounds good because it seems so utterly ridiculous.

“Oh, I’m serious. I’m scared. You’re the one who won’t come back one of these times if this carries on. If you want me to let you go do stupid shit and sit home with my dick in my hand, then you’re going to let me take care of you.” Steve opens his mouth to protest. “Don’t bullshit me,” Bucky says, voice hard, and he presses a hand into Steve’s shoulder, near his collarbone, forcing Steve to look at him. “There were a number of illnesses where I swear to God you only got through because I dragged you from minute to minute and wouldn’t let you go. Is that true or not?”

“Yeah, that’s true.” He isn’t even going to try to deny it.

“I helped you then because you were sick and you weren’t gonna make it. And this is different but it’s the same. Physically, you might always walk through that door but mentally, I saw you when you opened the door, before you knew I was back.” Bucky lets out a sigh, shakes his head. “Fuck. It’s probably a mistake. I should just go with you. Who is watching your back?”

“Nat. Sam. Wanda. Everyone who stayed with me after the helicarrier.”

Bucky’s hand drops away from him. His face goes pale at the rejection. Steve takes a step closer and Bucky backs up, frowns and then stops when he realizes he’s giving ground. And that Steve is trying to to take it. “No, Stevie.”

“I’m not weak, I’m not feverish or sick. I’m a grown up and I know how to handle myself. I’ll go back to therapy if you want, I’ll do…whatever, but you’re not going with me.”

“Then I get you for 48 hours. You are home for at least 48 hours after every mission and you will let me take care of you.”

Steve licks his lips, feels the back of his neck prickle warningly. This is dangerous in a way he can’t explain. It’s weird and odd. He risks a glance at Bucky and his friend is calm, confident and at peace. Which is bizarre considering all he’s been through. Maybe if he stays by Bucky’s side some of that will rub off on him. Huddle around his fire in the freezing night.

“What exactly do you want?” Steve asks him because he’s missing something.

“I want us to go back to the apartment. I want you to make us two cups of tea and then I want you to come sit next to me on the couch. That’s all.”

“But…I was probably going to do that anyways.”

“Exactly. So, what’s the problem?”

He shrugs. Fine. If it means Bucky doesn’t put himself in danger, he’ll do it.


	3. Chapter 3

They go back to their apartment and Steve goes into the kitchen, washes his hands, makes them tea and brings the cups into the living room. Bucky looks at him and smiles. Steve sets the cups down and blushes. Why the hell is he blushing?

“Good. Now lay down and put your head on this pillow,”he says, and he puts a pillow over his lap. Steve should laugh and protest, say he doesn’t want to or that he isn’t a child. But the truth is, he does want to be near Bucky. He will never be near enough. And Bucky is watching him, eyes practically begging him not to fight, to just go along for once in his damned life.

“Fine,” he manages, and lays down, puts his head on Bucky’s lap and closes his eyes when he feels Bucky’s fingers slide through his hair. It’s like his fingers are sending warm streaks of pleasure through him, melting away the tension bit by bit. His shoulders lower, he adjusts his neck because he must have been lying there stiff as a board. “You haven’t done this since before the war,” he murmurs.

“That’s not true. I did it the night we got back from Zola.” Steve’s eyes open and he tries to remember. They’d gotten back to the tent and Steve had broken down. Cried all over Bucky and fallen asleep beside him. He’d done a pretty good job pushing that shameful memory from his mind. “Close your eyes. Relax,” Bucky says, but he isn’t really saying it. He’s ordering it.

Steve shifts on the pillow, catches Bucky’s wrist and looks up at him. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry,Buck. You were being tortured and I made it all about me. I just…I thought I’d lost you.”

“Don’t apologize to me.”

Steve starts to sit up. This is important. Bucky presses a hand into Steve’s shoulder, urging him to stay where he is.

“Stay there. Don’t try and control this.”

“I’m not trying to control anything. I’m just apologizing.” Steve is braced to push up to a seated position the moment Bucky moves his hand.

“Jesus Fucking Christ. I don’t want you to apologize. I want you to close your eyes and shut up and let me do this.”

“Buck,” he says, feeling it all going wrong. He needs to fix this. How does he fix this? Some part of his brain switches on, starts strategizing, his heart rate picks up and his panic increases. Bucky lets his hand relax and Steve gets up, scoots closer, reaches for his hand.

“You can’t just sit there and do what I want? It’s been five minutes.” Bucky is watching him with a look bordering on disgust.

“But—”

Bucky gets to his feet and leaves the room, comes back almost instantly with a silk blindfold, of all things, in his hand.

“What is that?”

Bucky stands in front of him and Steve has to look up at him. He shuffles his legs apart and automatically, his hand comes up, resting on Bucky’s stomach as he looks up at him. He’s just so _close_. Of course he wants to touch him. He knows how it would look to other people, like he might be on the verge of undoing Bucky’s pants or something, and he wouldn’t do it in front of anyone else, but Bucky surely wouldn’t be surprised at him touching him like this. 

“I want you to do this for 48 hours. But, the truth is that you never let me help you willingly. Not then and not now. I only got to help you when you couldn’t fight me. So, I guess that’s what we go back to. This way you have to let me help you.” He pauses, licks his lips, the first hint that he’s not as confident as he’s pretending to be. “At least, that’s what I want to do.”

Bucky wants to _blindfold_ him? “For how long?”

One corner of his mouth lifts in a smile. “As long as I want. As long as I think we need that.” Those are weird sentences and they turn over in Steve’s mind again and again. The way he said them, the tone and inflection, how his eyes roamed Steve’s face when he said it.

“Okay,” he says, and he tells himself it’s because Bucky says he wants it for himself. Steve blinks, worried. Bucky is looming over him, which always makes him feel a bit onedge and turned on. And then Bucky puts the blindfold on him.

Steve holds his breath while it happens, eyes open and tracking the fabric as it comes closer and descends over his eyes, forcing him to close them. He makes a little sound, protest or surprise, when the fabric presses flat and gentle like a kiss.

“Fuck,” he says, and he doesn’t know why he says it.

“You’re alright. Steve, put you head back down on the pillow,” Bucky says, and he sits back down beside Steve. _Oh, right._

“How do I know if I’m in the right spot?”

“You are. Here,” he says, and Bucky puts a hand on the side of Steve’s face, supporting his head as he urges Steve to lean over… and then further and then he’s flat, his head is on the pillow and he’s stiff as a board. “Feet on the couch. Relax.” This is so fucking weird. He hates it. His breathing is trying to pick up and his heart is beating fast. His palms are sweating. _And_ he’s getting hard. So hard that he might have to get up and go to the bathroom. He lifts his feet to the couch and tries to relax at least a little. And then Bucky is petting him, fingers through his hair. His hand lands on Bucky’s thigh, grabbing him.

This is different then it was a minute ago. The blindfold makes everything intimate and the touch is electric and distracting. Is it because he can’t quite anticipate when the touch is going to come or because he has to focus on it since he can’t see? It isn’t just his head or even his shoulders that feel Bucky’s touch but it’s in his stomach and lower, shivering down his spine and he isn’t just hard, he’s aching for more.

Bucky keeps touching him, the tv gets turned up a little and he can tell Bucky is watching tv and not him. So, is this it? Because he can do _this_. He really could do this all day because this is good and easy, and he’s with Bucky.

Bucky is touching him and practically radiating happiness and there isn’t anything else in the entire world that Steve wants. Except maybe to not be quite so worked up over it. But, even that arousal starts to become familiar, something he can tolerate as the time passes.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks, quietly.

“I’m good….Thanks, Buck,” he says, and Bucky’s fingers still, then grip him briefly and carry on. Steve drifts. The petting is the same, rhythmic and he can now anticipate each touch, breathes as the fingers land on his scalp and exhales as they lift away at the base of his skull. And if he can’t anticipate it, that’s okay too. Bucky won’t hurt him. Each touch will be good. At some point he falls asleep and then he realizes he’s drooling on the pillow and he wakes up a bit. The tv is off. “You ready to get up?” Bucky asks softly, so quiet.

“Okay.” He keeps his voice equally quiet.

“Steve. Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah.”

“This is what you’re going to do. You’re going to sit up and then I’m going to lead you to the bathroom. I’m going to give you your toothbrush and you’re going to brush your teeth. I’ll take the blindfold off of you so you can go to the bathroom and then you’re going to put it back on and I’m going to tuck you into bed.”

He can’t be serious. But he knows without seeing his face that Bucky is serious. And he’s waiting for an argument. Bucky’s hand covers his mouth gently, stopping his protest before it comes. “I’m _asking_ you,” he says.“_Please_, Steve.”

The feeling of a hand over his mouth and the blindfold, both of those things limiting his ability to function is weirdly pleasurable. He presses lightly up into Bucky’s hand and the hand presses harder, just a little bit and Steve almost moans. He puts his hand back on Bucky’s thigh, hand sliding to the inside. Bucky jolts and he realizes he’s too close, fingers brushing Bucky’s cock through his pants. He pulls his hand away. Mumbles a sorry.

“Hush. You’re fine. Ready?”

Steve nods his head in agreement.

“Good. Thank you.”

Bucky takes his hand away and Steve pushes to a sitting position. He hears the pillow shift and feels Bucky stand, a displacement of air. Hands take his and that feels good enough for this to all be worth it. People very rarely touch him. “Do you think people can be touch starved?” he whispers.

“Probably.” Bucky squeezes his hands and Steve gets to his feet. His shoulders tense but Bucky is there and he pulls Steve slowly down the hallway. Carpet gives way to tile so Steve knows they’re in the bathroom. Bucky puts a hand to his waist and turns him, the sink presses cool against his pants. “Wanna put your hands on the counter? To orient yourself?”

“I don’t…I don’t know.” An image of himself, blindfolded, hands on the counter and Bucky behind him is terrifying. He doesn’t know what he’d do then. How he’d feel or what he might want. “I’m okay. I trust you.”

Bucky gives him a quick squeeze on the shoulder. Bucky hands him a toothbrush and after a moment of thinking he puts the toothbrush in his mouth. He’d been a little worried he’d smear the toothpaste on his lip or something. He brushes and then needs to spit. Hands on his hips, urging him a step back. A hand on his neck, helping him lean over.

Fuck. He keeps his breathing even. The water turns on and he can hear it, almost smell how close it is. He spits. This is the weirdest damned thing he’s ever done. He’s also hard. Which is even weirder. He puts his hand under the water and wipes his mouth, straightens. Bucky takes his damp hand and dries it with a towel.

He stands there waiting while Bucky puts the towel back on the towel bar and then feels hands on his biceps. “Okay. Take the blindfold off and go to the bathroom. Then you are to open the door and I’ll lead you to bed.”

He’s going to ignore the way that line sounds. “Do I put the blindfold on or do you?” he asks, and feels his cheeks get hot.

Bucky is quiet for a moment. “Do you have a preference?”

“You do it.”

“Okay. Then that’s what we’ll do,” he says, and he can tell that Bucky is smiling. And, fuck, it’s worth it all, for that right there. Bucky removes the blindfold and meets Steve’s gaze in the mirror.

“I think you look better already,” Bucky says. He touches a finger to the corner of Steve’s mouth and then over his forehead. “You aren’t frowning.”

Steve blushes, “I think you’re right. I’m still not sure—“

“48 hours. That was the deal,” Bucky says, interrupting him. Steve nods. Bucky leaves him there, closes the door and Steve unbuttons his pants, gets his cock out and frowns. There’s hard and then there’s degrees of desperation and leaking. He’s usually hard in the evenings. It doesn’t have to be anything weird. He also knows how to get off in no time. He gets toilet paper ready and grips tight, jerks hard and with purpose, finds he’s dripping almost instantly. He swallows back a sound and suddenly wonders if Bucky is right outside the door. Fuck, he probably is. Does he know?

He imagines Bucky putting the blindfold back on him, telling him to relax, let Bucky take care of it. He imagines Bucky unbuttoning his pants, taking his cock in hand. He tells Steve to let him, says this is what _he_ wants from Steve, and that’s enough to make Steve come, heart racing and lip bitten dark pink. He flushes the toilet, washes his hands, splashes water on his face, hoping it will make it look less like he just came and opens the door. He closes his eyes and waits. A hand reaches for his, tugs until he takes two steps forward. Bucky is close. He can feel him exhaling, warm breath on his cheek.

A sense of vertigo overcomes him and he reaches out, puts his hand on Bucky’s waist while he’s putting the blindfold on him. He takes long moments with the fabric, tying it at the back and smoothing the silky fabric over Steve’s brows. He shivers at the feel of it. Fingers gently slip down his face and his arms until Bucky takes his hands in his again and leads Steve to his room. He stops in the doorway. Hadn’t even really meant to. But Bucky stills too and cups his face with a hand.

“Tell me,” he orders.

“What if I have to get up in the night or the blindfold comes off?” Which is stupid and isn’t what he was thinking but it seemed better than the truth.

“Why are you tensing up again?”

“I’m not,” he says, and he takes a step back, suddenly defensive.

“_Stop_. What do you want? I’ll give you anything you want, Steve.” The grip on his hand has gotten tight, pleading.

“I don’t want to stay alone in my room. And honestly, I don’t want to be in my room. Yours is nicer than mine.” Which is a total lie. Their rooms are basically the same.

“Okay,” a squeeze on Steve’s hand. Gratitude. He’s being rewarded for being honest. He leads Steve to his room, to the opposite side of the bed then he usually sleeps on and he hears the covers adjusting. Hand on his waist urging him closer to the bed a step. “Sit.” Steve trusts him and sits down. He exhales when he hits the mattress. “Lay down. You’re fine.”

He lays down slowly because it’s unnatural, but Bucky is there and his head lands on the pillow and Bucky’s hands leave him for a moment, pull the covers over him and go over his face again. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Okay.” He’s not gone for long. It’s the same thing really. Flush of a toilet, sound of water and Bucky is back, the bed dips and covers are pulled up. Bucky is very far away. He wants to roll over but that might be too obvious. He lays there instead. The blindfold is becoming wet. Why? Why is it wet? Why is he emotional?

Steve clears his throat and accidentally makes some kind of crying sound. Bucky reaches for him, urges him to turn over and press into his chest. He moves closer, urgent and needy, clinging tight to Bucky.

“You’re alright, sweetheart.”

“That’s not true and we both know it,” he says, trying to laugh but it comes out in a sob. Bucky squeezes him tighter and it will never be hard enough, he will always want more from this man. He wants this tighter and longer, wants it without clothes and with Bucky’s breath in his mouth and it’s like a horrible revelation, one he can only have because he’s at his wits end and in the dark and lost with only Bucky as an anchor—he _loves_ this man. And not as a friend. Maybe never as a friend.

He’d let Bucky do _anything_ to him. Wants Bucky to touch him and want him in return. He wants Bucky to treat him like the endless parade of women he always brought home but more so. More lusting and wanting. Anything they gave to Bucky, Steve would too. Steve would give more and better.

Anything. He clenches his ass, a weird autonomic response to the thought of what he could offer, and wonders what that’s like. Men do it. They like it. He’d do it. He’d try it. And if Bucky liked it, moaned in his ear and came, actually came _inside_ of him, then he’d always do it. Could he feel him come? Feel Bucky’s seed spurting into him? He’d find a way to like anal sex even if he for some reason didn’t automatically love it.That alone would make him love it.

He’s utterly fucked. 

How long has he wanted Bucky? Maybe he’d wanted Bucky from the moment they’d met, before he knew what grown up love was. And Steve had thought he’d had enough, that he could have friendship and they’d both get married and see each other and it would be enough. But now they’re here and the world is different and Bucky is next to him and Steve wants to bury his face in his groin and breathe him in, he wants to know every part of him and have Bucky in his mouth and in his hands and that is not how he feels about anyone else.

Hell, he’s _never_ felt like this about anyone else. Bucky is it for him. He doesn’t want anyone else and he never will. He will love Bucky Barnes until the day he dies and if Bucky goes before him he’ll be right behind him.

Again.

“You’re good enough for me,” Bucky says, pressing a kiss into his hair. What? What’s he talking about? Steve has to think about it for a moment. Right. Steve is fucked up. “Unfortunately, I’m a wreck so that’s a very low bar,” Bucky murmurs. 

Steve rolls his eyes, not that Bucky can see it and presses in closer to Bucky’s shirt. “I’m so fucking glad you’re here,” he says, and even though it makes his blindfold more wet he doesn’t try to stop those tears. Bucky rubs his back, pulls him closer and they fall asleep.

In the morning, Steve wakes up and he can tell that Bucky is awake beside him. “You’ll be happy to know you can take the blindfold off now.”

Steve puts a hand to his eyes, hesitates for a minute. “What happens now?”

“You go take a shower and then come have breakfast. I’ve got a map for a good hiking trail. We’re gonna have lunch, swim and then come back.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Bucky gets out of bed, walks out of the room and Steve pulls the blindfold off. He doesn’t want to put it down, which is enough to make him do it and not look back.

An hour later and they’re leaving their apartment. The silence is easy. Steve feels light and happy in a way he hasn’t in a long time. Everything around them is beautiful and bright and the hike is long and makes them both sweat. The pace is grueling and Steve revels in it, loves the way his muscles are burning and he’s out of breath. 

They reach the top and Steve can hear the waterfalls before he can see them. There’s a basin of water surrounded by rocks where the water is still for swimming before cascading off the edge and foaming down below. This area is safe and sheltered. Theirs. They strip off and get into the water and Steve floats on his back. “I think you’re getting sunburned,” Bucky says. He reaches a finger out and touches Steve’s nose.

“Did you bring sunblock?”

“I did. Because I’m very responsible.”

“Sunblock for my fair skin is part of this babysitting gig? Bummer. Regretting it yet?” Steve asks, trying to keep his tone light. The idea that Bucky brought sunblock for him, that he’s watching out for Steve, monitoring him makes him want to grab onto Bucky and kiss him senseless.

“Absolutely not. Are you?”

“No. I’m…grateful.”

“Good. Remember that when I’m hand-feeding you grapes.”

Steve laughs, splashing water at Bucky. Bucky gets out a few minutes later and pulls two thin towels out of his pack. His back is to Steve and he can’t help but watch the muscles of his ass flex. He is an absolutely beautiful man. Bucky looks over his shoulder.

“I knew you were looking at my ass.”

“Mine’s still better. Just making sure.”

“You’re a punk. Come eat lunch.”

He gets out of the water, half hard and a little embarrassed but modesty isn’t something one keeps in the military. Bucky hands him a towel and Steve dries off, ties it around his waist and they both sit down on the blanket Bucky laid out.

“You were carrying blankets and towels in your pack? What was I carrying?”

“All the water.”

Steve barks out a laugh. “I thought you were supposed to be pampering me, not making me your mule.”

“It’s called multi-tasking. You can drink your own water by the way.”

“Yeah, thanks,” he says, rolling his eyes. He downs half the bottle and watches as Bucky unpacks roast chicken, fruit and some multi-colored grain salad. He reaches for a piece of chicken and Bucky smacks his hand away.

“I’ll feed you. Just be patient.”

Wait. _What? _There’s a strange falling sensation in his stomach. He knows Bucky is serious. He might panic. God, he doesn’t want him to be serious. “You’re joking.”

“Serious as a heart attack,” he says, and picks up a piece of chicken. He holds it out to Steve. Steve reaches for it with his hand. Bucky pulls it back. “I brought your blindfold.”

“Buck, seriously—” he clears his throat because the words were all raspy and breathless sounding.

“Get it out of your pack and put it on.” It’s an order. Bucky is waiting.

It’s weirder if he can’t keep it lighthearted. He knows that, but his lower lip is trembling and he sucks it into his mouth, bites hard to keep Bucky from noticing that he is very obviously and bizarrely losing his shit.

“Steve. 48 hours I get to take care of you or I get to go on missions and watch your back. It’s one or the other.” His heart is beating loudly in his ears. He looks down for a moment, trying to think. He doesn’t understand why Bucky is doing this. Is it a trick? Is he making fun of Steve somehow? “You don’t want me to do it for you, Steve.”

“Why not? What are you going to do if I don’t?” he asks, an edge of hysteria in his tone. Would he have cared this much or protested before he had his earth shattering realization that he was desperately in love with Bucky?

Bucky sighs, drops the chicken, wipes his hands on a napkin. He’s serious, intense and Steve can only watch, a little helpless and shocked as Bucky reaches into the bag, pulls out the blindfold and shifts over on the blanket to Steve. He puts it on him, each knee on the outside of Steve’s thighs.

And then. And then there is a smack, the faintest, lightest smack across Steve’s face.

He makes a sound in surprise. Reaches out and grabs Bucky’s hand, just holds him tight as he breathes hard, panting. “Bucky?” His voice breaks on the word.

“This was the deal, sweetheart.” He’s spinning and it’s good and horrible at once. Bucky puts a hand in his hair, makes a fist and pulls Steve to his shoulder. He feels the press of Bucky’s jaw against his face as Bucky supports him. “It’s just us.”

Which is such a weird thing to say and it doesn’t actually help Steve at all. Does he mean that no one can see them so it’s alright or that this is somehow okay because of how close they are? He doesn’t get it. But he needs to know. “That’s not…I think I’m scared.” He tries to say it lightly but his voice is strained.

“I’m not.” And he isn’t. He’s strong and he’s got Steve held tight and close and he’s going to take care of him. “Don’t you know I love you?”

“Yes,” he whispers.

“Don’t you know I’ll take care of you and won’t let anyone hurt you?”

“Yes.”

Bucky touches the blindfold. “Do you want me to take it off? I won’t feed you. We’ll have a nice lunch and that’s it.”

He swallows hard. Presses closer. The inside of the blindfold is wet again. He can feel where Bucky hit him. It tingles and he rubs his cheek on Bucky’s shoulder. He wants to be forgiven. Wants to climb into his lap and kiss him and have Bucky be proud of him. “You’ll be disappointed in me.”

“No. This is a hard thing for anyone and it’s especially hard for you. I’d be sad because I want this with you. It’s already different then last night.”

Which makes him feel dizzy. “Why is it different?”

“You reached for me. The way you’re clinging to me now. You’re crying and not hiding it from me.”

_Fuck_. “How embarrassing.”

Bucky’s hands go to Steve’s face, tilt his chin upwards. Bucky speaks against his lips, pressing gently at the corner of each side of his mouth. “I fucking love it. Don’t you want to know what we’ll be like tomorrow? How much further we might go?”

“Bucky.” That’s it. Literally all he has in him.

“Sweetheart. Even your voice is different. A little vulnerable? Will you let me feed you?” Bucky gently kisses the cheek he’d slapped. He can smell Bucky, cologne and water and clean sweat and he’d do anything to have Bucky keep going.

“The salad looks gross. The only way you’re going to get me to eat is if I’m blindfolded and hand fed,” he says, weakly. Any bravado is good right now. 

“It’s healthy,” Bucky huffs, and runs his hands through Steve’s hair.

“Same thing,” he says, shivering at the touch.

“You’re the worst. And there are brownies for dessert if you finish your food.” It makes Steve sound like a child. He pushes back a little but puts his hand on Bucky’s leg, as if to reassure himself that he isn’t alone.

“Stevie, are you alright?” and he knows the question is a time out. That if he says he isn’t, this will end. The blindfold will come off, he’ll stop clutching Bucky’s leg and Bucky will move away from him.

“Yeah, I’m good.” He hears Bucky drag in a breath and exhale. For once he sounds a little uncertain. Steve hates that.

“Okay. Attempt number two. Open your mouth.”

“I just want to go on record as saying that I’m trusting you. There are very few people who could tell me to ‘open my mouth’ and whom I would just let them put something in it when I can’t fucking see.”

“Well, there are no dead crickets around so you’re good.”

“Oh fuck, I’d forgotten about—“ he bites down on chicken. Message received. He chews and swallows.

As soon as he swallows, Bucky tells him to open. His voice is soft and quiet, the sound of the water and the birds receding into the background. It’s like this is a secret between the two of them. It’s possible he’ll be replaying this moment when he jerks off tonight. He keeps saying things like,“Open, Stevie.” And then, “Open your mouth.” And “Good, that’s _exactly_ what you’re supposed to do.”

It’s drugging and he wants more than food. 

“Good job,” Bucky says, gruffly. His hand convulses on Bucky’s leg and he lets go, withdraws because he’s so embarrassed. And he instantly wishes he hadn’t, feels oddly alone now. Why would Bucky saying ‘good job’ like that be so affecting? He gets another bite of chicken and reaches out, hand hovering over Bucky’s leg, a little worried he might put his hand down on his crotch or too high up his leg. Bucky’s fingers cover his, draw his hand down to his leg where he was before and Steve murmurs a thank you. Thank god he knows what Steve wants and needs. How does he know?

Bucky starts alternating who takes a bite, feeding Steve chicken and then himself and then there’s the salad which does taste good even if it clearly is filled with ‘ancient grains’ and steamed vegetables. He finds himself leaning closer and closer, as if he’s worried he’s going to not get the spoon into his mouth. But really it’s just that Bucky is so close that he can catch the occasional displacement of air along his chest and his face. His nipples are hard (which isn’t something he’s particularly noticed before but it isn’t because he’s cold, it’s because his whole body is aroused and wanting Bucky).

He shifts a little closer. “Come much closer and you’ll be in my lap,” Bucky murmurs, next to his jaw, by his ear and he turns his head, lips skating off Bucky’s stubbled jaw as Bucky pulls back from him. “Hang on a sec,” Bucky says, and his finger touches the corner of Steve’s mouth, wiping away food which Steve isn’t overjoyed about as he must have looked like a slob. His tongue darts out to the side automatically to lick the spot.

“Is that it?” Steve asks.

“No. Not quite. Open. Don’t bite my fingers.”

_Don’t bite his— what? _And then there’s a slice of apple at his mouth and he isn’t sure if he’s supposed to get the whole slice in his mouth or bite it in half. He bites it in half and chews slowly. He hears Bucky crunch. Steve bites a new piece of apple and then Bucky does. Is he finishing Steve’s pieces? Which isn’t a big deal, except for some reason it definitely keeps Steve hard and wanting Bucky closer.

The apple gets finished and then it’s a grape. Steve jerks back. “I can’t… I’ll lick you.”

“I think you’ve vomited on me seven or eight times. I’m not worried.” Bucky presses the grape to Steve’s lips. They’re small and they slip so there’s a lot more contact required for Steve to get the food into his mouth even though he’s trying not to lick him or press his lips to Bucky’s fingers more than necessary. It’s Bucky’s skin and Steve is helpless here. He almost moans when Bucky’s fingers linger on his lips and again when his finger presses inside a little.

What if he gives away how much he wants Bucky? Then it will make things weird and put distance between them. He can’t have distance. He’d take less closeness if it means his secret will stay secret. 

“I don’t want anymore. Thanks.” Saying it is awful. What a fucking lie.

“Are you telling me that you’re full or you just don’t want me to feed you?”

He shakes his head. “Just leave it alone. I—” Another grape is at his mouth. It’s too much. He can’t do this.

“If you drop one of these grapes then I’ll punish you again. Make sure it doesn’t happen, Steve.”

The inside of the blindfold is getting wet again. He’s going to know. He can’t have Bucky know. “Bucky,” he begs, hands on Bucky’s thighs and skating up his chest to his shoulders as he pleads with him.

Bucky sighs, must put the grape down because two hands are on Steve’s face, run back through his hair. _Kiss me. You have to kiss me._ “Is it really too much, Stevie? Or is it just difficult?”

“I’m scared,” he confesses. “I don’t think I’m feeling this right. My body is confused and, fuck, if I were still the old me I’d be having some kind of attack.” Bucky kisses his forehead. Kisses him! What if Steve had tilted his head or something? “If I react wrong or say the wrong thing it could hurt us. I just got you back. I need you. I can’t fuck this up.”

“You can’t fuck this up. You have no power here, Steve. This is all me, making decisions for you and deciding what you can tolerate and what you need. How can you make the wrong decision?”

He shakes his head. Well, he tries too, but Bucky is holding him still, maybe to make a point that he’s being controlled. Steve wants to just tell him that he needs to come and it’s all because of Bucky and what he’s doing, because it turns out he’s been in love with him forever. But that is a very, _very_ stupid thing to say. 

“I’ve told you what I want, Steve. Obey me. Yeah?”

“I’m going to cry. I _am_ crying.”

“Then cry,” Bucky says, like it’s easy. His lips press against the blindfold where Steve’s eyes are covered.

“I—I might say the wrong thing,” he whispers, the words all shaky.

“Then I’ll forgive you,” Bucky whispers and presses his lips to Steve’s mouth, quickly and then away.

“I’ll… _feel_ the wrong thing,” he says. Bucky’s hand slides down Steve’s chest, fingers brush over the towel where he’s hard and leaking.

“Then I’ll take care of you,” he says, and Steve doesn’t know what to say to that. Bucky stops touching him, pulls Steve into a loose hug, awkward since they’re both sitting on the ground and holds Steve while he thinks and gets himself together. “It’s up to you, Steve. I won’t do anything you don’t really want me to do.”

“You think I want this?” he says, pressing his face into Bucky’s shoulder.

“I want this, so yeah, I think you want this, too.”

He wants to give in and just trust that it’s going to be okay, but he’s so desperate he just can’t. He’s literally at the edge of what he can handle without throwing himself at Bucky and Bucky likes girls. Always has. Steve likes Bucky the way Bucky had always liked girls.

He wants to feel Bucky up and get his mouth on him, know what he tastes like and smells like, do every sexual thing with Bucky and Bucky wants to make him feel better and pet him like a fucking cat while Steve wears a blindfold. Those are very different things but his body doesn’t know that.

The fingers in his mouth, the kisses, hell, even the touch to his hard cock is supposed to make him think this is all okay but it isn’t. Steve has to be strong enough to protect them both from what he wants. He pulls back, reaches for the blindfold but stops himself.

“Tell me,” Bucky says.

“It’s a lot.” That’s all he can say.

“Do you want the blindfold off?”

He doesn’t know. No and yes. “Do you?” Steve asks, desperately. Which is dumb because he knows the answer.

“Honestly? No, that’s the last thing I fucking want right now,” he says, and he’s touching Steve’s mouth, fingers lightly on his jaw and his cheek, thumb brushing his mouth as his hand slides down Steve’s neck and stops just in the center of Steve’s chest like he’s waiting for some sort of permission or sign. 

“I think I need a break,” he says. Bucky pulls back, the blindfold is lifted away from him and he blinks against the bright light. Bucky is putting the blindfold into his bag, face turned away so Steve has no idea what he’s thinking.

He looks down, is relieved to see that the towel has covered him a bit. How wet he’s gotten hasn’t made itself visible. It’s a side effect of the serum. He _drips_ if he gets too worked up. 

If Bucky’s hard, he can’t tell. Steve reaches for the water and drinks some, really just for something to do. Bucky takes out a brownie, seems to hesitate, then hands it to Steve. “At least I don’t have to get chocolate all over my fingers,” he offers. “It would have been messy.”

“Guess so,” he says, weakly. Bucky might have made him suck his fingers clean. Thank god he stopped it, he thinks, even as an equally large part of him just feels devastated at what he’s voluntarily missing out on.

Steve eats the brownie. Objectively, it’s very good. But, it isn’t the same. He shouldn’t have taken the blindfold off. Bucky sucks his own fingers into his mouth to get off some melted chocolate and that should have been Steve’s tongue and his mouth cleaning Bucky’s thumb.

Steve feels the distance between them. As if Bucky took it as rejection. Is that it then? Is this thing between them over with?

Bucky is packing up their picnic and Steve doesn’t want to leave and he certainly doesn’t want to leave it like _this_. Steve has no idea what to say. He gets up and gets dressed, turning away from Bucky while he does it. He’s so fucking hard, his balls are huge, he has no idea how he’s going to walk back like this.

“Hey. Go ahead and I’ll be your lookout like we used to do.”

“What?” Steve asks, and he can barely look at Bucky.

“Steve. You’ve always been like this. Well, since the serum. Go ahead. It’s not a big deal,” he says, turning away.

Steve turns and heads down a little path, knowing full well he is going to jerk off because he really does need to get some of this out and get some relief before the trip, but it’s so weird that Bucky knows and is being casual about this. It’s been decades. Or years, depending upon how one looks at it, since they were in Europe and no one made a single rational decision ever.

One behaved differently in war. They weren’t there anymore. He doesn’t know a single person he could or would trust with information about his crazy libido. It’s been something he’s dealt with since he woke up from the ice. Been his secret. But now Bucky is back and with him and he knows all about Steve.

He’s got his pants undone and his dick in his hand, groaning in relief almost instantly. He uses his leaked come as lube and jacks himself off, fast and desperate after the torture he’s just endured. He comes so fast, but keeps going, playing with his balls, shivering as he ignores the sensitivity of his dick and how painful it is to be touching himself without stopping.

Bucky, he thinks, and wishes he was here, has an instant fantasy of Bucky telling him to keep going, to do what he needs to do, reassuring him that this is a good thing and that Bucky is right there to support him. He’d put his head on his shoulder and Bucky would stroke his hair, hold him close and let him stay close after he came.

That’s all. That’s all he’s ever wanted, the most he’d ever thought he’d have. Bucky being sympathetic and nearby. Willing to touch him platonically while Steve gives in to his base desires.

He comes again, because he can, because it’s easy as anything if he’s not trying to hold off, watches his come stripe the ground and pulls a tissue out of his pocket. He wipes up as best he can, buttons his shorts back up and heads back out to where Bucky is waiting. Steve blushes, he can’t help it.

“Better?”

He shakes his head. He can’t talk about it. He thinks Bucky might let it go but Bucky grabs his arm, pulls Steve close and Steve is so weak willed and ashamed he lets himself go. Bucky hugs him, touches his hair soothingly, so close to what he’s always wanted.

“I’d help you, you know. You don’t have to be so alone all the time.”

How would Bucky help him? Would he touch Steve? He pushes back from him and starts walking down the hill. He has no idea what to say to that, certainly can’t figure out a way to accept.

He doesn’t want charity. God, is he so desperate that he’d take charity hand jobs? If he doesn’t stay away from Bucky then he might be. But, isn’t that like the ultimate rock and a hard place sort of decision? He gets nothing and then Bucky won’t know how much Steve is in love with him, but their relationship gets colder and less intimate. No more feeding and hand holding, no more light touches and that gentle voice Steve hasn’t heard since he was sick.

Or, he keeps going and he gets hard and really desperate and tells Bucky he’s too turned on and can’t continue and Bucky will let him slip away for a bit or maybe even…help him, somehow. Bucky’s basically just told him he’s expecting Steve to be hard and need to come. That it isn’t a big deal. It’s just part of Steve, not part of his reaction to Bucky. So, maybe, if he jerks off before they do intimate stuff like feeding (is it just feeding that’s the problem? Maybe he could jerk off before meals or something?) Maybe he can have Bucky close and play this game and it won’t ruin everything.

“Hey, I still want to do the 48 hours. If you want. Only if you want,” Steve says, bashful, “I just…needed a bit of a break.”

Bucky nods. “Yeah. I want to keep going. I probably shouldn’t have pushed. I got a little carried away. You told me it was difficult and I ignored you. There were tears and I kept going. I’m not sure…I may want to keep going but maybe it’s not a good idea after all.” Bucky laughs.

It isn’t a good laugh.

“You know, I was feeling so fucking pleased with myself. Really self-righteous about how much progress I’d made. I was so desperate to think I could help you, because I’d always helped you, you know? Now, there’s no war, and I’m on a million fucking watch lists, I can’t help you in the _only _way you needed me to after the serum, and I felt like a fucking genius to have come up with this cockamamie idea. But, I _liked _pushing you. I liked you being a bit helpless and dependent. I liked you crying.” He stops, turns to Steve. “Jesus, Steve. I liked you _crying_ and _begging_ me. How fucked up is that?”

Bucky looks out towards the vista, like he’s thinking of just walking off the cliff.

“Look, you’ve made a lot of progress. That’s a fact. I think you are holding up better than I am, not that it’s a competition, and I know you want to help me. I think this could help me or at least us. I want… I want to be close to you. I don’t want to be alone and just Captain America. And, I think, I think there are times where I do just want to fall apart and know that someone cares for me.” He sighs, chews on his bottom lip for a minute while he thinks about what to say. “Honestly, the begging and the crying is nothing. I don’t actually care about that at all.” He vividly remembers begging Bucky on that helicarrier to recognize him and what they were to each other. He remembers begging Bucky to not hurt him. Or begging Bucky to tell him he remembered him in that apartment in Romania. He remembers pressing his hand against Bucky’s cryo tube and begging him to come back to him.

And that’s just the recent stuff. His whole life is littered with him begging Bucky. Now, the idea that he could beg Bucky and Bucky would actually _give him what he wanted_, give him sweet words and touches, fuck, the idea of that is so appealing his dick starts to get hard again. Yeah, he wants that. More than anything truth be told. “Maybe it’s even appealing to me, too. If I’m crying and begging and you’re trying to make it better, make me feel better then…yeah, I’m not sure you need to be worried about wanting that because I want that too. If anything, I guess my problem is that I want it too much. It makes me want…_you_ too much. And, I’m fucking terrified of you running away from me again. I can’t do that.”

It hits him like a ton of bricks and he actually sways a little. God, he just said that aloud. Bucky steps close, puts an arm around him and Steve puts his head on Bucky’s shoulder. They’re both hot and sweaty now and Bucky smells hot and sweaty and vital and he fucking loves it.

He’s always loved it.

The level of stink required for Steve to not want to breathe him in is a very high bar indeed. He takes deep breaths in and his lips press to Bucky’s neck, slip along his skin.His lips tingle with the need to taste Bucky, and he shifts on his feet, turns away so he can swipe his tongue across his lips and taste the salt and sweat of Bucky in his mouth without him noticing. Hopefully. He wants it so much he isn’t sure he’s being all that subtle.

“I’ll give you anything you want, Steve.”

“I just want you,” he says, because there are no _things_ Bucky could give him that would mean anything at all.

“Then you can have me. I don’t—”

Steve pushes away from him and carries on walking so he doesn’t say that he wants Bucky’s mouth and his cock and the weight of his body. That’s what Steve is talking about. And, he doesn’t want to be given them like a damned friendship bracelet. This isn’t splitting the last 1/3 of a bottle of whiskey or a pizza. He wants Bucky’s _come_, he wants his moans and to be bruised by him because Bucky is so hungry for him. Is just as wanting of Steve as Steve is of Bucky.

He wants Bucky to grab him and suck the sweat off his skin, shove his hand into Steve’s pants and come on his face because he has to see Steve that way. He wants Bucky to need him so badly he takes him with spit and misery. They aren’t talking about the same thing here, after all. And it’s so fucking cruel and awful that he might give anything to feel something different. Some other pain. He’s tempted to slam his fist into the rock beside them. 

It needs to be mutual or it’s just a tragedy.

Steve’s dick, masquerading as the voice of reason, pipes up with the fact that his whole life is kind of a tragedy. And likely will be until he catches the wrong bullet or the wrong gamma ray or the wrong bomb and it all comes to an end. His dick is telling him to stop being such a demanding diva and take Bucky however he can get him.

Bucky is offering kisses and touches, cuddles and hand jobs and is Steve really going to deny himself because it’s not _everything_ he wants? Is he really going to deny himself pizza because it’s not from Giovanni’s? It’s still pizza! His own stubbornness is getting him nothing. His own stubbornness means he pulled away from Bucky hugging him. He licks his lips again. He can still taste an echo of Bucky and even that’s going to be the pillar of his masturbatory fantasies for many a lonely night before him.

They walk onto the palace grounds and then to the elevator to their apartment. This is it. Bucky has the key card and he hesitates before swiping the door open. He goes inside slowly, clearly thinking.

Steve wants to shove past him but Bucky is blocking the way like a dick. Bucky stops. “If I swear to you on my mother’s grave and my… sister’s grave and everyone I’ve ever loved, that I won’t run away from you or leave you ever again, will you do this?” Bucky turns lightly towards him, so close.

God, he can’t even move or speak. Bucky is staring at him.

“48 hours after every mission, you are mine. No stopping because you feel vulnerable. No…hiding from me. I get _everything_. And I don’t mean the ability to like traumatize you or something. If something is really wrong you are expected to say and I’ll fix it. _We’ll_ fix it. But not letting me feed you because your dick got hard isn’t a good enough reason to call it. It’s all mine. Your desire is my problem, too.”

“You will never, _ever_ leave me?” he demands, and the tears are back. The tears are irrelevant. Bucky staying is the only thing that matters. He’d give anything for that. Hell, he’d kill for him, has killed for him, to keep him by his side.

“Only if you ask me to go,” Bucky swears, voice rough. He’s focused on watching a tear slide down Steve’s face. He looks hypnotized and devastated at once.

“I won’t ever ask you to go.”

“Then I’ll never, ever leave you,” Bucky whispers.

“Good. Then yes. Every mission. 48 hours after and I’m yours.”


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky puts the backpack down in the kitchen and gets them both a glass of water. Steve drinks it all, and rather desperately needs a shower.

Bucky gives him a once over. “We both need to shower. Then we’re going to rest on the couch for a bit or take a nap, depending upon how you feel, and then we’ll do dinner and bed.”

Steve nods. So, this is it then. This is back on again. Does this mean he gets the blindfold back? “Are you going to feed me?”

“Yeah, I am,” he says, almost daring Steve to object.

“What should I wear after the shower?” he can’t meet Bucky’s gaze because he feels like an idiot asking. But, Bucky had said _everything_ and that was the next decision he’d be making after a shower.

“I’ll put your clothes out for you.”

“And the blindfold?”

“Yes.”

“So, I could get dressed and then just… wait for you to come get me?”

“It’s a plan,” Bucky says, and he walks to Steve’s bedroom and into his bathroom, turns on the shower, even waits for the right temperature and Steve can’t help but fidget. He looks at himself in the mirror and winces because his lip is swollen from biting it. It’s a little deja vu or something. How many times has Bucky run him a bath and then watched him so Steve didn’t drown? God, he’d been so sick sometimes. A lot of times. Almost all the time.

Bucky finally steps back and he dries his hand on the towel and steps past Steve. He closes the door behind him and Steve gets into the shower. He jerks off twice, doesn’t really mean to, it’s just that once isn’t enough and it kind of just morphs into another go. He’s tired when he gets out, the water was a little hotter then he usually likes it but Bucky had put it there and he’d left it because…well, because.

He goes into his bedroom and there’s sweats and a t-shirt on the bed. He pulls them on and picks up the blindfold. It’s a different one. How may does Bucky have? His dick perks up in interest, contemplating Bucky with blindfolds and handcuffs and….stuff. It’s a thing. There are even popular books. That one with the tie that everyone seemed to be reading.

Isn’t this kind of like that? Should he ask Bucky if he read those books? Hell, should _he_ be reading those books? But, that was all sex, wasn’t it? He’s not having sex. He fiddles with it for awhile, while he sits on the bed and waits, running the material through his fingers again and again. He keeps his eyes closed but doesn’t put it on because he wants Bucky to do it.

Wait. Is that wrong? Bucky had wanted Steve to do it and what if Bucky comes in and he hasn’t done it and then he’s annoyed? What if he uses that voice again and he gives Steve another slap on his face?

His cock gets fully hard at the idea and he spreads his legs a little and puts on the blindfold so the problem goes away, decision made. The shower is off in Bucky’s room so he’ll be here soon. He’ll see Steve on the bed with his blindfold and the clothes he chose and he hopes Bucky likes it, finds him…pleasing.

What a stupid word. No one even says that word. He tests it out silently, imagines saying the word, hearing the word. ‘I’m very pleased. You’re very pleasing.’ Those are tame words. Almost prudish, but the heel of his hand is pressing against his cock, digging into the shaft and he isn’t sure if he’s trying to wind himself up or talk himself down but he can’t stop. Doesn’t want to stop.

What if Bucky slapped him for this too? For getting hard and touching himself when he wasn’t supposed to?

He’s leaking now and his pants are thin. Bucky didn’t put out underwear and Steve hadn’t gotten any because he wanted to be precise and obedient and now if he’s not careful, Bucky will see a damp patch on his pants and that’s definitely bad. He knows come is leaking from the head and sliding down the shaft and if his pants press against him, he’s doomed. He needs underwear.

He reaches for the blindfold but stops, one hand on the fabric. He can’t take it off. He shouldn’t. Should he? It isn’t this complicated. If he could just get rid of the evidence of how much this is arousing him, he’d be fine. He reaches into his pants carefully, swipes up the come onto his fingers, onto the palm of his hand and gets his hand out. Now what? How was this a good plan?

The box of tissues is far away. He should wipe it on the bedding or something but he’s frozen, absolutely frozen and then Bucky is there. Steve can feel him, smell him and there’s a towel on his hand, gently cleaning him.

All he can do is breathe. He tries to keep it steady, to keep it together. If Bucky had a towel for him then he must have _seen_. He knew Steve was hard, that he was leaking and touching himself. He must have stood there and watched, and instead of leaving it alone, he’s assumed some sort of responsibility for this too. He needs to say _something_. Clearly this has got to end. He’s fucked it up beyond belief and Bucky is going to think he’s a pervert. He might even want to move out or go somewhere else. Find a new best friend. Sam wouldn’t do something so bizarre.

“I want to gag you for the evening. If there is a problem you can tap me and I’ll take it out to help you.”

Oh. That doesn’t sound like the sort of thing Bucky would say if this was all coming to an end. “What if you’re far away?” he asks, hesitantly.

“I won’t be. I’ll keep a hand on you the whole time.” Steve licks his lips. Silky fabric presses against his bottom lip. He wishes he could see Bucky’s face, he needs to know what he thinks of this, needs to know where they are. “It’s blue like your eyes. I can’t see them and they’re very pretty, Stevie.”

Steve opens his mouth and the cloth goes in. Clean, flavorless. Silk. He wonders what it is. Bucky doesn’t tie anything around his head so Steve assumes he’s just supposed to keep it there. It’s weird not being able to see or talk. He feels erased or insignificant, like he’s invisible in the world and only Bucky can see him or make him real. He’s trembling and the blindfold gets wet again.

“I’ve got you. You’re mine. It’s alright,” Bucky says, presses kisses against the blindfold and even once onto the gag, and Steve cries out, muffled when he feels it. Bucky kissed him on the _mouth_. And now he’s got his hands on Steve’s face and he’s kissing his cheeks and he’s dropped down between Steve’s legs, hips pressing forward and so Steve opens his legs wider to make room for Bucky and wonders if Bucky has any idea how serious this is. You don’t do this with friends, it isn’t platonic. It can’t be. Can it?

Bucky presses kisses to Steve’s jaw and down his neck and Steve just shakes and wishes for more and that he’d never stop. “You can stop me. You know that, don’t you?”

He tries to say yes through the gag. Even nods. He knows. He won’t say no. Bucky breathes him in and touches Steve all over, like he’s a thing or he’s _his_. As if he has the right. Is that part of erasing him or remaking him?

“Sorry. Was that okay?” Bucky asks, gruff and definitely unsettled.

He nods.

“Good. Um, come on, sweetheart,” and Bucky gets up, takes Steve’s hands and pulls him to his feet. Steve waits, patient, head down, lost and yet Bucky is found, he can see and talk and he’ll lead the way and Steve can do this. He follows Bucky out of the room.

They don’t go to the living room. Bucky takes him to the bathroom, turns on the faucet and washes Steve’s hands. He does it one at a time, starts with the non-jizzed on hand and Steve is so utterly mortified and small he can’t hardly stand it. Bucky washes it clean and reaches for Steve’s other hand and Steve makes a fist, holds it still. He doesn’t want Bucky to touch his filthy hand. He can do this on his own.

Steve reaches both hands for the water.

“No.” Steve stills. “I’m taking care of you now, Stevie. And it’s my fault. I should have put underwear out for you.” Well, that sounds like a gross misinterpretation of the facts and they both know it. He huffs, keeps his hand clenched.

“Stay still,” Bucky orders and Steve can do that. Bucky is drying Steve’s washed hand and then brings his hand low, presses it to the front of Bucky’s pants, pressed against—. Steve pulls his hand away, slaps it down too hard on the counter and grips tight. He’s leaking again, his cock is throbbing warningly and his balls are fat and heavy.

“I just thought you might like to know that getting hard from this isn’t a big deal. It’s a type of intimacy that is arousing. You’re not alone in getting turned on.” Steve thinks about that for a moment. Doesn’t that mean this is sex? He’d ask but he has a gag in his mouth. _Do you really want to know_, he can’t help but ask himself. “I guess doing this is going to affect us both this way. And maybe that makes sense, all we had for so long was war and sickness and death and now we don’t and we’re just responsive to good things.”

Bucky should be a salesman. He’d buy a bridge, an island, a state from him. It makes perfect sense when he says it like _that_. And there is no fucking way this is okay or makes sense. He lets his hand relax the barest amount and Bucky murmurs how good he is, right next to his ear and it makes Steve shiver. The water goes back on and Bucky gets Steve’s dirty hand wet, quick and perfunctory, and then puts soap in his palm, starts to rub it all over his fingers, the tips of them where the come had been swiped up, between the joints of his fingers and he doesn’t know if some of it had slid down into the webbing when he’d been panicked and waiting for Bucky to show up or if Bucky is just being thorough.

The hand gets rinsed and dried. He’s led to the living room and Bucky has him kneel on a pillow at Bucky’s feet. At least he isn’t between Bucky’s legs with his head at crotch level because that would _definitely_ be beyond the pale. He’s waiting there embarrassed and Bucky runs a hand through Steve’s hair. “Can I feed you? If I take the gag out will you stay quiet?”

He nods. At this point, he can’t imagine saying anything would be helpful. The gag comes out and a straw is held to his lips. He drinks water and then Bucky offers him a dried apricot. He takes it from Bucky’s fingers and eats it, licks his lips after because it’s sticky. He blushes. Another apricot and Bucky says, “My fingers are sticky.”

That’s it. It’s not an order, maybe it’s not even an offer. Perhaps it’s a statement of fact. “Okay. I can… I mean, I will….” Steve reaches in front of himself blindly, makes contact with Bucky’s hand and brings it to his mouth. It’s a redo of earlier when he’d made the mistake and denied them both. There’s resistance at the last moment, Bucky’s fingers just next to his lips. “You don’t have to,” Bucky says, wanting Steve to be sure or something. 

Steve parts his lips, licks again in invitation and Bucky’s thumb presses there, slips in the barest amount and Steve licks his skin, sucks on it, feels Bucky’s leg muscle tense against him. Bucky pulls out his thumb and presses another finger in and he cleans that too. And then he has nothing in his mouth. He’s breathing heavily and his cock is hard and he’s wet again. Bucky must know, right?

He wishes his hands were tied up so he couldn’t touch himself or touch Bucky. Right now, it’s like half his attention is on Bucky, and waiting for something to touch his mouth, and the other half of his attention is intent on his own cock and his reaction to this. He’s desperately intent upon not touching himself. Could he suggest getting tied up?

Another apricot is suddenly against his lips and he opens a little wider, tries to lick at Bucky’s fingers as the fruit goes into his mouth and Bucky makes a sound, like a sigh of pleasure and Steve wants to hear that again. Wants Bucky to think about all the other things Steve could take into his mouth and suck on. Steve blushes and is unbelievably grateful for the blindfold.

Bucky gives him more water, a few more apricots and then his head is pressed down against Bucky’s thigh and Bucky strokes him gently, willing Steve to settle down. It’s difficult. He’s anxious, his mouth is watering and some part of him thought he would get Bucky’s dick in his mouth. He’s frustrated and aroused, has a vague idea that he’s failed or maybe wasn’t compelling enough to get Bucky in his mouth.

He shivers and shuffles on the ground, struggling with it. “Settle down, Steve. You’re exactly where I want you to be. We’ll be here until you relax. Can you give in to me?” Steve forces himself to calm down, to get himself together. This is the mission. To relax and be content.

It takes for fucking ever for his shoulders to unlock and start to slowly unclench. For Bucky to praise him, and run fingers through his hair. Eventually, he’s relaxed, he feels boneless and like he accomplished something.

Bucky gets him to his feet, holds onto him while he shakes feeling back into his legs. Bucky pulls him close, into a hug and he moves into him without hesitation, like he belongs there or has earned this. They’re in this together.

“I don’t want to be alone,” he whispers into Bucky’s neck. It isn’t what he means. What he means is that he can’t go on without Bucky again and that he can’t go back from this, to just friends when there is so much possibility hovering around them.

“You’re not going to be alone.” Bucky promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short update. I'd kind of expected to post the last chapter, which was quite a bit longer but I'm not very happy about it. I read it this morning and was like 'wtf this is awful.' 
> 
> I've done a ton of rewriting and so this is where things are as of this moment. another update should happen within 24 hours. Thank you for all the lovely comments, it's part of the reason I'd like the story to have a better resolution then the current one which just feels a bit regurgitated.


	5. Chapter 5

They go to Nat’s place for dinner. Everyone had to bring a dish and Bucky brought more brownies. Steve’s a bit annoyed that he didn’t know they were around. Bucky had clearly hidden them so he didn’t finish them off. As though he couldn’t be trusted. He’s pretty sure he could have been trusted.But, still, brownies!

All is fine until they sit down to eat, and Thor, bless his damned heart, raises a glass to Steve and makes a toast. “To our fearless leader. You have earned our trust and your natural ability to lead is a gift. Your skill exceeds most anyone, even those with formal training in war-mongering.”

Bucky’s hand is instantly on his thigh. He’s squeezing, trying to ground him. People agree and drink to him and he’s speechless, says something undoubtedly ridiculous, maybe even patriotic if the way Nat is looking at him is any indication.

They eat and it’s steak. Steve’s portion is rare and blood runs on his plate, every muscle in his body locking up and his stomach churning. He can’t eat this. He just can’t. Bucky is suddenly leaning into him, his heat and strength along the side of his body, his mouth next to Steve’s ear, “When we get home you’re going to change. You’re going to sit— hey, listen— you’re going to sit on the ground at my feet and I’ll tell you what to do. Do you understand me?”

He’s pale. He’s sweating. He doesn’t know if he can make it through dinner. The fingers on his thigh dig in, dragging him back to the present.

“Can you get the bread in the kitchen?” Natasha asks, looking between them. Steve gets up, Bucky gets up and they both walk out of the dining room. Bucky is at his back and Steve is about to lose his mind. He might actually pass out.

“I think I have to leave. But, if I leave they’ll know.”

“They’re only gonna know what you want them to know.” Bucky’s hands, one cool and one warm cup his face, and he leans into the metal one and somehow Bucky has crowded him against the fridge. Steve’s eyes are closed, he’s shaking.

“Fuck. Stevie. Hey. You’re okay. I promise. I’ve got you. I do.”

He opens his eyes and Bucky looks scared and determined. “Bucky. Please. Do it. Whatever it is you’re going to do or thinking about. I want it,” he says, and Steve knows he sounds like he’s begging.

Bucky’s gaze drops down to his lips and he thinks Bucky is going to kiss him. He doesn’t, he jerks Steve close, holds him tight and Steve tries to breathe. His uncertainty is around the edges. “I don’t know. Do you wanna go? Or stay?”

“He’s a wreck. Take him home,” Nat says, quiet.

Steve looks up from Bucky’s shoulder, pushes him back and away, resumes his Captain America posture and crosses his arms defensively. “Where’s the bread?” he says, trying to play it off.

She raises a single brow, arched and unimpressed and picks up a basket of bread that is literally the only thing on the surface. “Great. Good.” Steve follows her out of the kitchen, sits down and a moment later Bucky returns to his seat. Steve shifts in his chair, angling away from Bucky. If Bucky touches him now then he might fall apart.

Scott is telling a story about ants and Thor is asking a lot of questions, clearly intrigued. Natasha resumes her conversation with Sam and Steve cuts his steak, eats a bite and swallows. He does it again. And then again. Pleased with himself for being a normal person. The conversation shifts to him, becomes fact based, mission oriented. Nat tries to change the subject but Scott and even Sam are oblivious.

“The wings are bulletproof and I got there in time, but my aim sucks. If I’m in the air, I’m not quite sure I can cover that large of an area, you know? Like sure it was fine but I’m wondering—”

“_Who_ were you covering?” Bucky asks, all polite and soft.

Sam frowns. “Uh. Steve? I mean, we were all kind of covering Steve.”

Bucky nods. He’s pissed. Steve can feel his anger.

“It was fine,” Steve whispers.

“Everyone covers you which means no one does. I know _exactly_ what that means,” Barnes mutters, so quietly only Steve can hear.

The rest of dinner passes and Steve even laughs a few times. Bucky tells a story about Brooklyn and a pack of wild dogs he befriended with the help of the local butcher. Steve knows his role in this story, says all the right things at the right time, swearing it was all true. And it was. The girls had always loved that story. Every other double date, that stupid story got trotted out.

The brownies were served with ice cream and after that, Bucky pleaded exhaustion and he pushed back his chair and stood. Steve got up too and followed Bucky back to their place. Steve half expects Bucky to rant at him about his lack of protection on the mission.

And then they’d have another fight because Steve doesn’t want Bucky there and Bucky doesn’t want to be out there either, but he doesn’t want Steve exposed more. There’s also a possibility that Bucky will want to talk about the kitchen and what Steve said, but that isn’t, apparently, happening either. “Go to the bathroom and come back,” Bucky says, and his voice is oddly flat.

Steve goes, comes back and hesitates.

He takes a side trip to the bedroom and picks up the blindfold, brings it into the living room and sits on the ground. He puts it on and waits. Bucky comes out a minute later. He hears the door and then the absence of sound as Bucky stares at him.

“Is this wrong?” he finally asks.

“No. No, it’s perfect. It’s exactly what I told you to do.” He sits down, adjusts his position so Steve’s head is near his thigh. Bucky’s hand settles in his hair and he lowers his forehead to Bucky’s thigh, exhales shakily.

He loves this. Really, he could do this all the time. Bucky is the most important thing in the world to him and when Steve is here, at his feet, touching him and being touched, then everything is fine. 

The tv clicks on. The volume is low. He can feel the tension in Bucky’s leg. “I don’t think I can let you go out there without me. I shouldn’t have let you do it in the first place. I’m sorry I went under and didn’t know how bad it was for you.”

“It’s okay,” Steve says, the blindfold getting damp again. He pushes his face into Bucky’s thigh.

“It’s not okay. I’m serious Steve.”

Fuck. “I can’t have this conversation with the blindfold on.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Let me,” Bucky says, and he pulls it off. Steve blinks and looks up at him. Bucky offers a hand to help Steve to the couch but he doesn’t care about that.

“I’m fine.” He squeezes Bucky’s leg, gets his attention. “You don’t want to fight. _I _don’t want you to fight. As long as it’s safe you stay out of it. That was the deal.”

Bucky crosses his arms. The withdrawal physically hurts. “You won’t tell me if it’s dangerous. I can’t risk you.”

“It was fine. And Sam said we’d work on it. We will.”

“No one is as good as me when it comes to protecting you.”

Steve nods. It’s true. Bucky wipes the tears off of Steve’s cheeks. “I don’t think I can stay safe if I’m worrying about you out there. I think you’ll distract me,” Steve says.

“That’s not fair. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t?”

“I’m being honest.”

Bucky stands up, walks away, to the kitchen and gets a glass of water. It’s bullshit. He doesn’t want water, he wants to get away from Steve. “Wait. That’s not…you can’t _do_ _that_.” Steve’s voice is shaking.

“What?” Bucky sounds pissed. Maybe a bit confused.

“You’re mad at me and so you’re leaving me here, you’re punishing me.”

He laughs unhappily. “I’m punishing you by getting up and walking to the kitchen for a glass of water?”

“Yeah. Actually, you are. Cause I’m here on my fucking _knees_ for you. So, you can’t get up and walk away when you put me here. That’s just…that’s mean. You said you wouldn’t.” Steve isn’t sure if he’s right. But, he’s devastated and wants to beg Bucky to come back. 

“Then get up. I asked you to move to the couch. You’re the one who took off the blindfold. You’re the one who pushed me away in Nat’s kitchen. Jesus, I don’t know!”

Steve stands up, and now he’s pissed. His voice is low with anger. “Well then maybe you _should_ know. You ask for all this from me and I’ll give it to you. Fuck, you can have anything you want from me, Bucky. But you have to fucking _mean_ it because it’s hard for me, too.”

He turns to leave, is walking out of the room when Bucky speaks. “I don’t think this was a good idea. I’m sorry. I don’t know how to do one thing and not the other, you know?”

“No, actually I have no fucking idea what you mean.”Steve leaves the room. He puts on pajama pants and a t-shirt, brushes his teeth and stares at the sink as he thinks about how different this was yesterday.

And didn’t that come and go quick.

Obviously, it wouldn’t have worked for the long term. And Steve is so confused about how he feels, so worried that he could mess up and out his feelings for Bucky that not having to be so dependent upon Bucky should be a relief, but it isn’t. Not really.

It had felt like they were close to something beyond the both of them. Something they made together. When Bucky had fed him it had been electric. He’d never felt that needed and necessary at the same time. But that only worked if Bucky wanted it and guided them. Steve couldn’t imagine it working any other way.

Does Bucky want him? Part of him just wants to know, have it out of the way one way or another because there have been a lot of mixed signals. Hasn’t Steve been clear? 

But, now that he’s got some space to think about it, he doesn’t want to do any of that if Bucky doesn’t want him fully. Everything they did was a beginning with no conclusion. And maybe that’s why it’s stalling out now. There was only one answer in that kitchen. He offered himself to Bucky and Bucky backed off. Therewas only one conclusion when he was licking Bucky’s fingers wearing a blindfold and Bucky didn’t want something sexual from him.

Bucky wants to _help_ him. Those are very different things. So, if it’s over then isn’t it better to know now? It’s for the best. Funny how it could be for the best but he now feels like absolute shit. He leaves the bathroom and goes to his room, closes the door and lays down in the middle of the bed, wide awake and staring at the ceiling.

There’s a knock, some indeterminate amount of time later. Twenty minutes? He doesn’t answer. Maybe he’ll get lucky and Bucky will go away. The door opens. Steve has no luck. “What?”

“Remember that time we went on that hike to the waterfall and I fed you and you wore a blindfold?”

“Was that the day you slapped me?” he asks, unwilling to bend.

“That’s a very strict definition of the word.”

“What do you want?” Fuck, he is so tired. And he won’t get any sleep.

“Can I come in?”

“Not really. I don’t want to fight with you and you know what…I just don’t want to _hurt_ and I _really_ don’t want _you_ to bethe one hurting me, and that’s what’s going to happen. So, please, leave me alone and we can talk about it…some other time.” Tomorrow might be too soon. Next year might be too soon.

Bucky isn’t leaving. Bucky shifts uncertainly in the doorway. “I don’t want to hurt you. You have to know that’s the last thing I would ever want. Right?”

Steve swallows. “Yeah. I know.” He’s 98% sure.

He hears Bucky sigh, sees the nod of his head as the light from the hallway makes him visible. “It didn’t work because I wasn’t honest with you. You’re right, what I wanted us to do, it requires you to be vulnerable and trusting, and I thought I was putting myself out there too, but I wasn’t.”

“You want to sit down, don’t you?”

Bucky moves into the room. “I don’t think friends can do what we were trying to do. It’s gotta be more than that. The truth is, you were so fucking beautiful today, and then seeing you on your knees looking at me like…. I realized it was a mistake as soon as we started, but how could I go back, you know?”

“No, I don’t know,” Steve says. His voice is a whisper. It was supposed to be a strong denial. Oops.

A long pause. “I don’t think if we were growing up now that we’d be friends. I wouldn’t have gone out with all those girls, I wouldn’t have watched you and Peggy and tried to smile and pretended like it wasn’t breaking my fucking heart. It’s okay to be with guys now. You…I think you would have been it for me. So, that’s why we couldn’t do what we were doing out there. Cause you were trusting me and I was lying to you. I want you. I’ve always wanted you. Us. I was trying to have something with you and it wasn’t as friends. It was a cowardly way to have you.”

“If we’re not friends then what are we? What are my… options?”

Bucky laughs, a little surprised. “I’m not the one who decides everything, Steve. I love you and I want to be with you and if that’s something you want to then we go at whatever pace you want to.”

“I can’t believe you’re saying all that and not even trying to kiss me.”

“Yeah, weird, huh? But, um, that’s actually because this is the easy part of the conversation.”

Steve sits up. “What does that mean?”

“The missions… what Sam said—”

“Screw what he said.”

Bucky holds up a hand. “Fine. Ignoring what Sam said, the way you reacted to it, baby, you are not okay. I’m going to be there with you.”

Steve frowns. “I don’t think I can do that. I don’t know how I’d function with you out there with me. Putting yourself at risk.”

“You’re very adaptable. Let’s start training then. Or go on easy missions. It’s easier then you think. We did it all the time.”

“No.” Steve says, staring at the space in front of him. “I can see how you think it would be easy to go back to that, but it isn’t. Not for me. Do you remember the last thing you said to me before we boarded the train?”

Bucky frowns. “I don’t… I’m not sure.”

“You asked me if what we were about to do was payback for that time I threw up—”

“I remember that,” Bucky says, interrupting him. But, he clearly doesn’t get it because he looks even more bewildered now.

“You didn’t want to go on the train. Certainly not that way. It was dangerous and you didn’t stop me. You let me make that decision and I was…arrogant. I had no real plan besides beat the crap out of people. You were always the one who had the plans.”

“I have no fucking idea where you’re going with this. The logical answer seems to be that you should be glad I’m willing to be there then. And, Steve, I was joking. We had to get on the train. We _got on_ the train, that part of the plan worked easy. Yeah, I fell, but it couldn’t have gone any differently. There isn’t a mistake to point to.”

“I can’t do it again. If you really cared about me then you wouldn’t ask me to.”

“Steve,” he says, going towards him. He lowers himself beside Steve, looks up into his eyes. “We’re talking about the same thing. I can’t stand the idea of losing you and you can’t stand to lose me. You don’t go without me. That’s all there is to it.”

Steve wants to punch something. “Then… give me permission to kill myself if you die. If I can go too then I’ll do it. But, that’s the only way. I don’t want to go another minute without you.”

“Stevie,” he says, and Bucky blinks back tears. “That’s not okay.” 

“It’s a promise. A pact. If you want to go out there again and we do missions then I want a cyanide capsule, or to have that one bullet with my name on it, and you have to support that choice.”

“I don’t have to support that choice and I don’t. If this seems like a good idea to you, then you’re done.” Bucky’s lower lip wobbles and and he tries to smile, to hide how upset he is by what Steve has said.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means you’re benched. It means we retire. You’re going to find something else you can do to help people. But, putting yourself in physical harm’s way isn’t it. Not anymore. I can’t let you do that.”

“That isn’t your decision.” Steve realizes he was wrong. Bucky isn’t just upset about Steve’s suicidal self determination, he’s putting all of his chips on the table,going all on in. Steve knows the attack is there, but he can’t quite see what it is yet.

Now Bucky’s horribly gentle. “Yeah, it is my decision.”

Steve’s going to be sick. “No, you _promised_ you wouldn’t leave me.”

Bucky winces. “And I won’t. It doesn’t ever have to happen. No more missions and I won’t go.”

“Fuck you. Really? That’s a threat. That’s blackmail. How can you—” There’s a giant lump of emotion in his throat and he can’t get out the words. He sobs, Bucky tries to hold him and he shoves him away. “You can’t do that to me.”

“I’m sorry, Stevie. But that’s where it is. Look at me,” he orders. And Bucky puts hands on his face, forcing eye contact. “You go on that next mission and baby I won’t be here when you get back.”

Bucky has this look on his face. Conviction. Steve has seen that look before. It means he’ll do what he doesn’t want to do if it’s the right thing to do. If it’s what is going to keep Steve safe. “It’s all the leverage I have and I’m scared for you.”

“Get out.” Steve whispers.

Bucky gives him space, stands, backs up and Steve grabs him. “How can you do this to me?”

“I love you. I love you, Steve.”

“I’m so fucking mad at you and I can’t even bear to let you walk out of this room.” Doesn’t Bucky understand how desperately Steve needs him?

“I know. I do.” Bucky pushes him back to the bed, kisses his mouth and his face, kissing him like there isn’t anywhere else in the world he’d rather be. Like he can convince Steve if he kisses him hard enough and long enough.

He can’t help but react, his body alive with lust and anger. He shoves them both over so he’s on top of Bucky, yanks at his jeans, the button popping off and the zipper ripping. Bucky gasps in surprise, arches up against him. Steve shoves back and yanks Bucky’s pants down, his cock half-hard. He opens his pants too, strokes himself until he’s hard and leaking, climbs back on top of Bucky, kissing him, biting at his neck and his jaw, panting heavily as he works himself to an orgasm.

“Sweetheart, you’re okay. Come on, baby. So good, Steve.”

“Fuck,” Steve gasps, coming on Bucky’s stomach. He shivers and shakes, stunned at what he’s done. Surprised Bucky has just let him behave like this.

“Clean me up, baby.”

“I need to get a tissue,” he says, stupidly. The rush of orgasm is fading away and he doesnt’ know how he feels.

“No. Use your mouth. And kiss me.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” he says, because it sounds wrong and awful. But, also kind of hot in a really messed up way. Bucky swipes a finger through the mess on his stomach and presses it into Steve’s mouth. Steve licks his lips, tastes him, finds himself getting hard again. Bucky pulls him down into a kiss, tongue in Steve’s mouth. And then he’s pushing him down.

Steve licks it up, gets distracted by Bucky’s skin and his hard cock, only kissing Bucky on the mouth when Bucky drags him back up and forces his tongue into Steve’s mouth. And then he gets to go back down, gets to kiss and lick at Bucky’s hard cock, taste the pre-come that slips out of him. He mouths at his balls and loses track of himself and their argument as he explores Bucky’s body.

“I need to make you come.” He takes Bucky’s cock into his mouth, sucking as much of it as he can, not needing an answer. Bucky moans, thrusts up gently and comes with a warning, not that Steve has any intention of moving away or not swallowing.

Bucky shoves him over to his back, straddles him, one hand on Steve’s chest, the other on Steve’s hard cock, jerking him off until Steve comes all over himself. He wipes it onto his stomach and rubs it into both of them, a filthy promise that makes sense to Steve. This is where they are now. There’s no going back from this. 

“I won’t just take, Steve. I promise. You’re not just giving something up, I promise.” 

He shakes his head. Doesn’t say a word.

“They’ve offered me land. A home. A few bedrooms, a garden. Whatever you want. We can cook. Your ma always made soda bread and sometimes biscuits, but you were the one in the kitchen once we lived together. You were so good at it. And we’ll get a dog and you’ll still see your friends. You can plan and you can advise, you can help with training, but Sam is competent and still wants to fight. Nat still wants to fight. They all do. And they all _can_. And, baby, I’m sorry. But you can’t. So, this is what you get instead. You can have me, okay?”

Steve holds him tight, heart breaking and happy at the same time.

“Marry me, Steve. I want you. I love you. And, maybe it isn’t forever that you sit out or we sit out. But, a while. A year. Maybe two before you even think about it again. That’s what you need.”

“That’s not fair.”

Bucky moves in, kisses Steve on the mouth. “I know. I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Do you want the blindfold?”

He nods. He doesn’t know why. Bucky gets the blindfold and comes back to the bed, puts it on Steve and strips him naked. He strips himself naked too, and climbs in behind him.

“I’m going to fuck you. Is that okay?”

He nods and curls into Bucky, giving him access, thigh up and on Bucky’s hip as Bucky opens him up slowly, telling him how sweet he is.

After three fingers Steve doesn’t want anymore prep. “I need to feel it. That you mean it.”

“Okay, sweetheart.” It hurts. Bucky is slow and careful. He strokes Steve to hardness every time he softens but it takes awhile for him to get all the way inside. And when he comes Steve is relieved, shakes apart and lets Bucky force another orgasm out of him, blindfold on and as passive as possible. He’s Bucky’s now.

He’s been had and fucked. Used and stolen away from his commitments. His ass throbs and Bucky cleans him up carefully, tells him how good he’s been. He ties Steve’s hands together for the night and Steve cries himself to sleep.

When he wakes in the morning he’s numb. All of his friends and coworkers are gone. They went on a mission and they left him behind with Bucky and he feels like a loser. It’s unbearable.

Bucky takes a shower with him, gets him fed and forces him to leave the apartment. He thinks they’re just walking, that Bucky is trying to get his mind off of it and get them through the day. But, then they’re stopped and T’Challa is there, talking to Bucky, pointing various things out and Steve gets it, where they are. Where Bucky has brought him. This is where they’d have a home. If he wants it. The king talks to Steve a little, pats him on the back and leaves them there.

Bucky comes to stand beside him.

“What do you think?”

“I think it isn’t this easy.”

“Yeah, building a house will be a pain in the ass. You took that architecture class. You design it and we’ll build it together.”

Steve blinks. He’s serious. “You’re insane.” Steve looks around. They’re on a rise, green grass all around them. “How big is it?”

“Two acres? From here to that tree, the big one that looks like it might eat children or something. And then to the creek. You can see the rocks. That’s water.”

“Eats children? That’s that book, huh? The one your ma got for Becca with all the terrifying pictures?”

“Yeah, that one,” Bucky says, smiling at him, big and sincere. There’s a breeze that catches his hair, forces the strands todrift across his face and Steve pushes it back, tucks it behind Bucky’s ear.

“We can’t.”

Bucky kisses him sweetly, another promise. “We are. You and me, Steve.”

Steve blinks back tears. Shakes his head. Bucky takes his hand, has him walk the property with him, tells him where the porch should be, a veranda facing the creek, maybe another on the other side of the house and how they have to plan for the breezes.

Steve can see it, everything becoming more real and bright, the sound of the water registering, how peaceful it is all around them. He finds himself in Bucky’s arms and then laying on the ground, Bucky on top of him, hand opening Steve’s pants.

“Come on, sweetheart. Please? Can I?” he asks, but he’s already taking what he wants so Steve touches him all over, reassuring him that he’s exactly where he wants to be.

“I want you to fuck me again.”

Bucky pauses his way down Steve’sbody. “Really? I wasn’t sure how well that was received. So to speak.”

“It was good. I think. Intense. I want to do it again. I liked you being inside me and I liked how it felt afterwards. I liked the blindfold and the tying up to.”

“I’m glad.I liked it too. You look soft and lovely all tied up, you know. Definitely makes me want to fuck you.”

“Good.” Because Steve has no ability to say no to Bucky. He never has. Not really. Bucky moves down Steve’s body, kissing his way lower and taking him in his mouth until he comes.

It’s perfect, the way he touches Steve, the praise and the knuckle pressing against his hole, a reminder of what Steve is going to get later. Steve cries again, gets tucked in tight to Bucky’s body, his hard hand forcing Steve to stay still until he’s calmed down again. It’s shocking how easy it is, how much he wants all of this, over and over again, and for the rest of his life.

He loves Bucky, him as a person and his body. The sex they can have is something he loves too. He’d suspected, even hoped that would be the case, but now he knows for sure and it’s another brick in the future Bucky is trying to push him towards.

Bucky holds his hand and doesn’t take him back to the apartment but to Shuri’s. Steve hears the yipping before he sees it. There’s a crowd of children and several adults in the corner of her lab. She greets them both and Bucky pulls him over to look at the puppies. There are eight of them, two snoozing in a corner of the makeshift pen next to the tired mother, and the rest chasing after each other, sniffing the children’s outstretched hands.

Shuri urges them all out and Steve and Bucky are left alone with Shuri and the dog’s owner who tells them all about the puppies. They’ll be big, like the mother, around 60 lbs. They can’t go with them yet, but they canchoose which one they want and come visit and in a few weeks they can take the puppy home.

Steve goes to the ground, cross legged and stunned that Bucky has brought them here, is making all of this happen so quickly. Bucky adjusts the gate so Steve is in with the puppies. He wants to say no again, that they can’t do this. That what Bucky wants is impossible and a fantasy. A puppy crawls on his leg, makes a yip and Steve’s hand hovers over the small, warm body, scared to touch him. Bucky sits down next to him, gets two puppies in his lap before he’s even fully settled and the look of happiness on his face is burned into Steve’s memory.

“This isn’t just for me,”Steve says. That hadn’t really occurred to him. 

“Of course it isn’t.”

Steve sighs. “You know we have to get two, right?”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you were going to say.”

“Well, you can’t have him be alone.”

“You’re right, baby.” He pulls Steve in for a kiss.

One Year Later

“Jesus, it’s hot,” Tony says, pulling at the collar of his shirt.

“Nice, huh?” Nat says, ignoring the snark. She calls it Stark Snark. Tony thinks Bucky came up with it. That’s what Sam said. He’s going to see Bucky for the first time since Siberia. He might throw up.

Nat pats him on the arm and Pepper is there too, looking at Tony like she has complete faith that he can do this. The jeep stops in front of a house. One story and… quaint. Craftsman style. A bit rugged. Doesn’t look like it was put together by two men who don’t know shit about building a house. “I painted the door,” Nat says. “See that window and how it’s a little too close to the edge? Sam did that.”

There are a hell of a lot of windows. All of them open and he hears the sound of laughter, Sam Wilson and the ant fellow chuckling. A girl’s voice calls for her daddy and the ant guy turns to his daughter.

Jesus.

They get out of the jeep and go up the steps, the house having a raised foundation. A dog barks once as they enter the house and another one shows up, giving Tony and Pepper a sniff. They’re big dogs, all spots and giant pink lolling tongues. They’re well behaved except for the bark, tails wagging. One disappears and comes back a moment later with a tennis ball. Nat grabs the ball and throws it out the front door. Both dogs bolt out the front with a scrabble and Nat closes the door.

“They’ll go around back,” she says, clearly knowing the house and its occupants well. Part of the family, he thinks and kind of wants to be sick again. This is a house with happy people in it, he thinks. And then Steve is there, coming around the around the corner to the entryway.

Good god, is he in sandals?What is the world coming to? He has on a t-shirt and shorts, his hair is long and he has a beard. He looks… tanned and well rested. Really happy. It’s disgusting, truth be told. He also has a wedding band on. And then Bucky is there. His smile fixed as he comes towards Tony.

“Tony. Glad you could make it.”

“I brought a gift,” he says, thrusting it out. Because nothing says, ‘hey no hard feelings for trying to kill you when you clearly weren’t responsible for your actions’ like a Roomba.

“Thanks, Tony,” Steve says, and Pepper saves the moment by hugging Steve and Bucky, which means Tony gets to hug Steve too. He’s still built like a brick shit-house.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Steve offers and they follow behind, get the tour. The flooring is a dark wood, with rugs in every room. The furniture is simple and comfortable. Steve has a room for his art, the light apparently great, even if it does look out at the ugliest tree Tony has ever seen.

There are three other bedrooms, one is theirs, with a California King size bed and a massive bathroom with shower and a tub that Tony knows must be custom built to fit two men. It’s a thought he tries not to get too stuck on. The visuals are there, practically creating themselves.

He can’t help but notice Nat’ssuitcase has been put in one of the bedrooms and he’s pretty sure she even has a few things in the closet, like she’s there fairly often. He also recognizes Wanda’s boots tucked into the closet and he has visions of them all coming to stay with Steve and Bucky on a regular basis, drinks out back and everyone being well rested. Just like New York. Sure.

He gets given a beer, he and Steve talk about bullshit and even though it’s awkward, it’s a start. It’s an overture that things can start over again and Tony will take that. He makes the rounds, apologizing and talking to Sam and even Wanda who’s draped in a sun hat and is speaking something not-English with Bucky while he turns steaks on the grill.

There’s a pool and a spa, the sun sets and lights and lanterns in the backyard come on automatically. It’s certainly beautiful. There’s a trellis filled with blooming jasmine that smells nice if one is into that kind of thing. Steve laughs a lot, looks unlike the man Tony thought he knew. He’s at peace and content. His eyes follow Bucky obsessively. Mainly checking out his ass. Fair enough.

Tony makes sure to find time to have a word with Bucky, gets told to not worry about it and that he’s willing to start over if Tony is. He is. After all this time without the Avengers, he’ll do just about anything to have things go back to normal again.

“So, does this mean you’re back on speed dial when the end of the world threatens?” Tony asks Steve.

Nat kicks him under the table. Steve blushes, looks down and Bucky puts a hand on Steve’s back, almost like he’s reassuring him. “I don’t know. That kind of leads into why we’re having everyone over.”

“I thought it was a house warming and tender reunion with old friends?” Tony says.

“Well, yes, but… we’re adopting a child. And that’s approved so, we wanted everyone to know. At some point in the next few months you’ll either get lots of panicked phone calls and pleas for help or you won’t hear from us at all because we’ll be in the weeds of parenting.”

“You’re going to be amazing,” Bucky murmurs and Steve blushes again, kisses his husband and if Tony didn’t know better he’d think the poor bastard was about to start crying. So much for the stoic Captain America image.

“Trading in the shield for a diaper?” Tony lifts his drink in a toast. “There are worse things. Congratulations.”

“Well, the shield is actually going to Sam.” Steve shrugs. “People like Captain America.”

“Cause he’s hot,” Bucky says, and Steve goes pink.

He doesn’t know how he’s going to explain it to Rhodey. If he hadn’t seen the domestic bliss with his own two eyes he wouldn’t have believed it. It’s nauseating. Truly, horribly nauseating.

Pepper and him stay for a week.

Six weeks after that Tony learns that you can get spit up out of most everything. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays! I don't know how it got so sappy but there it is. I may or may not have made myself a little weepy.

**Author's Note:**

> Tis the season for comments?


End file.
